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Brunhilde knelt at his feet 




Stories from Wagner 

* \ 


BY 

J. WALKER McSPADDEN 

AUTHOR OP 

“STORIES FROM CHAUCER,” “ STORIES FROM DICKENS,” 
“ OPERA SYNOPSES,” ETC. 


WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR 


NEW YORK 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



transferred f'SOIK 

COPYRiaHT OFfiOg 


JAM U i9^{ 



COPYRIGHT, 1905 AND 1914, 

By THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY. 


Pub 


1914. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction . ix 

The Ring op the Curse ....... ., i.,- 1 

Part I. The Rhine-Gold . 1 

Part II. The War Maidens 26 

Part III. Siegfried the Fearless . . ,. 46 

Part IV. The Downfall of the Gods . .. ... 70 

Parsifal the Pure 95 

Lohengrin, the Swan Knight . 121 

Tannhauser, the Knight of Song ...... 147 

The Master Singers 172 

Rienzi, the Last of the Tribunes . . . 204 

The Flying Dutchman 229 

Tristan and Isolde . 256 


( 






































































































LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


Drawings by H. Hendrich and F. Lecke 
Brunhilde knelt at his feet Frontispiece *' 

OPP. PAGE 

The Giants borfe Freia away 12* 

The two were re-united in a fond embrace 34 

Instantly a stream of fire gushed forth 44? 

Then in the silence a bird sang to him 60 

The three maidens swam close to the shore .... 88 

The death of Siegfried 90 

The funeral of Siegfried 92 

Thus it was that Parsifal began his pilgrimage . . .112 

He was compelled to yield 128 

He saw a beautiful woman 150 

Wolfram looked after her 166 

Walter began his song 202 ' 

At the head of a large body of men rode Rienzi . . .212 

Daland looked at the stranger keenly 240 

The two stood silent looking at each other 272 



INTRODUCTION 


I T would be a longer story than all the “Stories 
from Wagner” put together, to tell where these 
tales began and how they grew. Centuries be- 
fore they were set to music in the soul of Richard 
Wagner, some of them had been chanted around 
rude camp-fires by savage-looking men clad in the 
skins of animals. They were repeated by word of 
mouth long before even the rudest art of writing 
was learned ; and in various lands they were known, 
though the stories often differed. For in those 
days men believed in spirits, good and bad, and in 
giants, dwarfs, gods and goddesses. They told 
these stories to their children, just as real history is 
taught to-day; and later the legends were treas- 
ured not only for their deep interest but also be- 
cause they showed how people lived and thought, 
long ago “while the world was in the making.” 

When Wagner, the great music-dramatist of 
Germany, was writing his wonderful operas, he 
found much of this rich material lying ready at his 
hand. Other parts he adapted to suit his needs. 
And it is the form in which he used the tales that 
has been followed in the simple retelling in the 
present volume: hence the justice of the title — 
“Stories from Wagner.” Let us pause a moment 

ix 


X 


INTRODUCTION 


to see who this author was, and how he came to 
collect his themes. 

Richard Wagner’s career extended over the bet- 
ter part of the last century. He was born at' Leip- 
zig, May 22, 1813; he died at Venice, February 13, 
1883. His whole life was a struggle, for his musi- 
cal ideas were unlike any that had gone before. 
But he lived to witness a splendid triumph; and 
to-day his operas are produced more often than 
those of any other composer. 

The following is the order in which the operas 
were first given: — 

Rienzi, 1842 

The Flying Dutchman, 1843 
Tannhauser, 1845 
Lohengrin, 1850 
Tristan and Isolde, 1865 
The Master Singers, 1868 
The Ring of the Nibelung, 1876 
Parsifal, 1882 

When Wagner was just beginning his career, 
he was in great doubt as to the choice of subjects 
for his operas. His first famous work, “Rienzi,” 
was based upon Italian history. The English 
novelist, Bulwer-Lytton, has written a noted novel, 
using the same title and groundwork. 

The legend of “ The Flying Dutchman,” which 
Wagner next chose, is one of the best-known sea- 


INTRODUCTION 


xi 


myths in existence. In every country sailors tell 
of a mysterious ship that is seen in times of danger 
or distress. The captain of this vessel bears many 
names, but it is believed that the varying tales are 
only versions of one original legend. The German 
poet, Heine, wrote one version, and from this Wag- 
ner obtained the first idea for his opera. 

With “Tannhauser,” Wagner entered upon the 
purely German themes which he was thenceforth 
to find so rich a mine. This story like many others 
was extremely old, yet it had been treated only 
rarely. Ludwig Tieck had written some verses 
upon it, and from these Wagner got his idea. 
Owen Meredith, the English poet, has also given 
us a charming version entitled “The Battle of the 
Bards.” While Tannhauser himself has been sel- 
dom written about, Walter von der Vogelweide — 
the minnesinger, and friend of Tannhauser in the 
opera — is the subject of many poems, one of the 
last being by Longfellow. Sir Walter is set down 
in German history as an actual person, and many 
things are told about his marvellous gift of song. 

Wolfram von Eschenbach — another historic 
character found in the operas — once wrote a fa- 
mous old poem entitled “Parzival.” Here Wag- 
ner discovered the germ of his beautiful story of 
“Lohengrin,” following the lines of an old and 
well-nigh forgotten legend. The opera of “Parsi- 


INTRODUCTION 


fal,” though not completed till more than thirty 
years later, was also conceived at this time, and 
remained a cherished project. Legends of the 
Holy Grail, with which it deals, are familiar in 
every Christian country. There is much in the 
characters of both Parsifal and Lohengrin to re- 
mind us of Tennyson’s Sir Galahad, in “Idylls of 
the King,” which treats of the Holy Grail. 

In “Tristan and Isolde” we have another legend 
which was well known during the Middle Ages. 
It was known in Wales, Ireland, Brittany and Ger- 
many, where it was a frequent theme with minne- 
singers, or wandering minstrels, like Walter von 
der Vogelweide. One of the earliest German au- 
thors to write down a version of it was a certain 
Godfried of Strasburg; and Wagner had at his 
command this and numerous other versions. Eng- 
lish poets, also, have been greatly attracted by the 
tale. Sir Walter Scott, in “Thomas the Rhymer,” 
told the simplest version. Matthew Arnold, Ten- 
nyson, and Swinburne have given notable poems of 
some length on the subject. 

During the Middle Ages, and particularly in 
the thirteenth century, the city of Nuremberg was 
the seat of a famous musical guild, or training- 
school for poets and singers. In his “Master 
Singers,” Wagner has followed history for his 
scene, characters and traditions, though he has made 


INTRODUCTION 


xiii 


droll use of them. The Master Singers have 
left substantial proof that they really lived. There 
are poems still in existence, signed by Sixtus Beck- 
messer, Veit Pogner and others; while Hans Sachs 
has left whole volumes behind, and his memory is 
so revered that he is looked upon almost as the 
patron saint of his city. Longfellow says in his 
poem on “Nuremberg”: 

“Here Hans Sachs, the cobbler-poet, laureate of the 
gentle craft, 

Wisest of the Twelve Wise Masters, in huge folios 
sang and laughed!” 

Wagner also obtained his idea for the contest of 
song from one of Hoffmann’s novels entitled 
“Sangerkrieg.” He made use of the same idea in 
“Tannhauser.” 

Although “The Ring of the Nibelung,” Wag- 
ner’s grand lifework, was not presented until 1876, 
he had been at work upon its four parts for more 
than twenty-five years previously* He had pub- 
lished the first two parts without their musical 
score, in 1853. The other operas which appeared 
in the meanwhile were but breathing-places, so to 
speak, in the greater labour he had set himself to 
perform. 

Wagner was especially fortunate in his choice 
of subject. The Nibelungen myth was a great 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION 


national epic — one of the oldest of the Teutonic 
race, dating back to the prehistoric era when 
Wotan, Fricka, Freia, Thor, Loki, and the other 
gods and goddesses were worshipped in the Ger- 
man forests. In the course of centuries several 
versions of the legend appeared, some being found 
even in Iceland under the name of “Eddas.” In 
Germany a long epic poem came to be written by 
some unknown hand. It was called the “Nibel- 
ungenlied,” and it is the most famous of all early 
German poems. 

Of course Wagner had access to all this ma- 
terial. Rut he made so many changes from it in 
writing his own poem as to create a new story — 
one which, independent of the wonderful music 
which he wrote to accompany it, gives him place 
among the foremost writers of his nation. Vol- 
umes have been written pointing out the differ- 
ences between his Nibelung story and the earlier 
legends. 

But the purpose of this book is not to criti- 
cise, dissect, or compare. After giving these few 
needful names and dates, we wish merely to fol- 
low the splendid fancy of this singer of songs and 
teller of tales wherever in the realm of storyland 
it may chance to lead us. 

One further word, however, of frank admission : 
While the spirit of the original is adhered to, and 


INTRODUCTION 


xv 


very often the exact words are quoted, it has not 
been deemed best to follow the argument too 
closely. Instead, simplicity and directness have 
been considered preferable to the involved plots 
and symbolical actions of the operas. 

The book is directed primarily to the needs of 
young people, and is sent out to them in the hope 
that sometime they may hear the dull booming of 
the Rhine about the Gold, the magic fire as it 
sweeps to encircle the sleeping maiden, the forest 
voices which greet the young and fearless hero, the 
chorus of the pilgrims, and the song which won the 
bride for a prize. All these and many other good 
things are held in store by the future. Meanwhile 
“the story’s the thing,” and we who will never 
grow too old to believe in giants, dragons and 
dwarfs, and the brave heroes who ride over the 
world doing heroic deeds, can still be thankful that 
Wagner lived and dreamed his dreams of the past. 

J. W. M. 



The Ring of the Curse 

( Der Ring des Nibelungen ) 

PART I 

THE RHINE-GOLD 

H UNDREDS of years ago in a wonderful 
time called the dawn of the world there 
lived many strange beings which do not 
now exist. Gods and goddesses dwelt in the clouds 
that hovered about the mountain peaks. Great un- 
tamed giants roamed amid the valleys. Swarthy, 
misshapen dwarfs, called Nibelungs , 1 toiled in the 
caves of the under-world heaping up treasures of 
gold and silver which never did any one any good. 
Ugly dragons crawled about on the earth; while 
beautiful water-nymphs lived in the rivers and 
seas. Lastly there were heroes and savage men 
who struggled together for the mastery in that far- 
off day when the world was in the making. 

How the end came to all these strange things, 
and how the reign of the gods finally ceased, will 
be set down in this fourfold story I am about to 
tell you. 


i Pronounced Nee'bel-oongs. 

1 


2 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


In the clear depths of the river Rhine, in Ger- 
many, once dwelt three water-nymphs — lovely 
maidens who were very like other maidens, except 
that they passed their whole lives under the water 
and could not be seen by ordinary eyes. F air were 
they in face, and graceful in form. Their eyes 
beamed gladness, for they had never known sor- 
row; while their long golden hair floated about 
them like a garment, or tossed upon the wave-crest 
as they played some merry game of hide-and-seek 
amid the grottoes of their watery world. They 
were called the Rhine-Daughters, and thus in frol- 
icsome play did they spend their days — free from 
all care save one. It was this care and the sorrow 
following close upon it that caused the present 
story to be told. 

Upon one of the highest rocks, deep down in the 
bed of the Rhine, was stored a great lump of pure 
gold, brighter and more dazzling than any other 
treasure ever known. It was also more wonder- 
ful than any other gold, because it contained the 
power of making its owner master of all the world. 
This treasure had lain undisturbed in the river’s bed 
for so long that it had come to be known as the 
Rhine-Gold. It was watched over by the Rhine- 
Daughters, in whose care their father had left it. 
This was their sole duty — to keep guard night and 
day lest some thief should come and steal the price- 
less treasure. 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


3 


One bright morning the maidens seemed unusu- 
ally merry. They darted in and out the caverns 
with a speed which left the flying-fish far behind. 
They laughed and chattered and sang, but glanc- 
ing from time to time up at the precious Rhine- 
Gold, to see if it still glittered upon its protecting 
crag. 

Presently their happy noise at play attracted a 
passer-by, who clambered upon one of the jutting 
rocks to see what it was all about. The new-comer 
stood in the greatest contrast to the three laughing 
girls. He was a dwarf, little and ugly and 
crooked, with a humped back and long, claw-like 
fingers to match the eager, grasping look in his 
small eyes. ITe was Alberich, of the race of the 
Nibelungs — the earth-dwarfs who dug for treas- 
ure in the underground caverns, and hammered 
and toiled without ceasing for the gold that never 
did them any good. 

“Ho, ho!” he exclaimed to the maidens. “A 
fair morning to you!” 

The nymphs started in alarm at the harsh, croak- 
ing voice. Nor did their first sight of the visitor 
reassure them. But they replied, civilly enough, 

“A fair morning to you, sir!” 

Then one of them darted swiftly upward, sing- 
ing as she went: 


4 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Guard well the Gold; 

*Twas just such a foe 
Our father foretold/* 

Nevertheless Alberich had paid no attention to 
the Gold, so pleased was he by the nymphs and 
their gambols. And they in turn, losing their fear 
of the uncouth monster, and willing to tease him, 
asked him to catch them in their game of hide-and- 
seek. This he tried to do; but blinded by the un- 
usual light, and stumbling awkwardly over the 
rocks, he could never keep up with their fairy-like 
antics. First one and then another would come 
near him or ascend the rocks, but it was always 
just beyond his reach. Finally their laughter and 
teasing made him angry, and he stopped short, re- 
fusing to be made sport of any longer. 

J ust then a ray of sunlight filtered down through 
the water and struck the Rhine-Gold. Instantly 
it glowed as though it were a mass of flame, re- 
flecting a hundred shafts of light where one had 
smitten it. The whole river-bed was illuminated 
by the glorious rays. 

The astonished dwarf looked toward the source 
of this splendour, and what he saw made his small 
eyes fairly bulge out with greed. Yet he con- 
cealed his amazement and waited to learn some- 
thing about this splendid treasure without betray- 
ing his own interest. Fortune favoured him. His 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


5 


unspoken question was answered by the Rhine- 
maidens who surged upward with a glad cry of 
“The Rhine-Gold! The Rhine-Gold!” 

“What is this Rhine-Gold you are talking 
about?” asked the dwarf with a great show of in- 
difference. 

“What ! Haven’t you ever heard of the wonder- 
ful Rhine-Gold?” asked one of the maidens 
thoughtlessly. “We supposed it was famed over 
all the world.” 

“But I dwell in the under-world and hear not 
the things which are spoken among men. Tell me 
of it, I pray.” 

Then the maiden forgot her father’s warning to 
guard the treasure closely. She also felt nothing 
but contempt for this awkward little man from 
whom they could so easily escape. She told the 
secret of the Gold in the words of a song: 


“The realm of the world 
To him shall it bring 
Who out of this Gold 
Shall fashion a Ring 
Of magical power untold.” 


“Hum! Say you so?” said the dwarf, keeping 
his excitement down by a powerful effort, though 
his finger-nails fairly clawed into the flesh. “If 
your metal is as fine as all that, why doesn’t some 


6 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


one lay hands upon it and do all these great 
things?” 

“Sister, sister! be careful!” said another of the 
nymphs. 

But the first only laughed and replied, “What 
can this silly old fellow do? Let us have some 
more fun teasing him!” 

Then the third maiden floated gracefully near. 
“Why doesn’t some one seize the Gold?” she re- 
peated. “ ’Tis because no one has yet been able 
to pay the price.” 

“What is the price?” 

“This is it,” she answered. “Listen: 

“ ‘He who forswears the might of love. 

And all its pleasures manifold, 

He only has the magic art 

To mould the Ring from out the Gold/ ” 

“Pish! a pretty story you are telling me!” said 
the dwarf. “As though a little matter like doing 
without love should make a person master of the 
world!” 

He made a great show of scorn while he said 
these words, but all the time he was edging quietly 
nearer the treasure. 

“But love is the greatest thing in the world!” 
said the first maiden. “No one can do anything 
without its wonderful aid. Why, even you — poor 
old fellow — would not dare forswear it.” 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


7 


“I would not dare forswear it — eh?” exclaimed 
the dwarf with a snap of his fingers and a wild 
laugh of triumph. “Love, forsooth! What is 
love to me, when gold is in question? Hark you, 
Rhine-maidens ! I renounce love for ever! Be 
my witness!” 

And he sprang rapidly forward, before the 
nymphs could prevent him, clambered up the 
j agged rock and seized the coveted treasure. 

“Our Rhine-Gold! Our Rhine-Gold!” shrieked 
the maidens. But it was too late: already he had 
disappeared in one of the clefts of rock leading to 
his cavernous home, and though they darted after 
him they could not find him in the dark depths. 
Only his mocking laugh came back to them. 

“Ho, ho! Love! When all the world shall be 
mine!” 

Now we have already seen that the nymphs and 
the dwarfs formed only a part of the strange 
world, so long ago. At the very time when Al- 
berich was stealing the Gold and preparing to 
make the Ring of Power down under the earth, 
there was an unusual happening in the home of 
the gods far up on the mountains. 

For a long time Wotan, the greatest of the gods, 
had desired a palace large enough to contain his 
kingly court. But he could find no one strong 


8 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


enough to build it, until on a day two giants from 
the valleys below came into his presence. Large 
were they of shoulder and thigh, many times larger 
than ordinary men. 

“We have come to build your palace,” they said. 

“Who are ye?” asked Wotan, looking piercingly 
at them with his single eye. 

“I am Fafner, the frost-giant,” answered one. 
“I can rend all these rocks asunder and build your 
palace in a single night, with the aid of my brother 
Fasolt, here.” 

Wotan was overjoyed to find some one who 
would undertake his cherished plan. 

“What payment do you desire for this service?” 
he asked. 

“You must give me the hand of your beautiful 
sister, Freia,” answered Fafner. 

Wotan frowned. He desired the palace above 
all things, just then, for it would enforce his visible 
rule over the world. But Freia was his favourite 
sister. Moreover, it was she who was the goddess 
of youth and beauty and who tended the tree of 
golden apples which kept the gods always young. 

While Wotan was frowning and pondering to 
himself, his brother Loki whispered in his ear, 

“Let them build the palace. We shall find an- 
other way out of the bargain.” 

Now Loki, god of fire, was the craftiest of all the 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


gods. So when Wotan heard his whispered advice 
his brow cleared, and he looked at the giants. 

“So be it!” he commanded. “ Build me the cas- 
tle ’gainst another sunrise. It shall be Walhalla 
— the supreme home of gods and men.” 

The giants bowed and went their way. Pres- 
ently the sound of mighty blows was heard, and 
terrific crashes as of the bursting asunder of rocks. 
All that day and night the tumult continued, while 
the earth shook to its very foundations. 

The next morning the rising sun lit up a splen- 
did spectacle. There stood Walhalla, magnificent 
home of the gods, upon the crest of a towering 
cliff. Its white walls gleamed and glistened. Its 
towers and buttresses were built of stones so large 
that they seemed placed for all eternity; yet the 
whole mass appeared as light and graceful as a 
fairy vision. 

“Beautiful! Wonderful!” cried the gods and 
goddesses in rapture. 

“Let us take up our abode in our new home!” 
said Wotan, with the delight of a schoolboy. 

But just then the two giants appeared clad in 
their shaggy skins of slain animals. 

“Hold!” said Fafner. “First give us in pay- 
ment the goddess Freia as you promised us.” 

“That I cannot do,” replied Wotan. “You 
must think of some other way for me to reward 
you.” 


10 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Not so,” exclaimed the giants angrily, their 
hoarse voices making all the mountain quiver. 
“Give us the maiden, as you agreed, else we shall 
tear down the palace quicker than we built it.” 

And they placed themselves on each side of the 
trembling Freia. 

“Touch her not!” cried two gods, as they sprang 
forth to protect their sister. “Do you not know,” 
continued one, “that I am Thor, god of thunder, 
and that with one blow of my hammer I can crush 
you both?” 

And he raised his hammer threateningly. But 
now the great Wotan interposed in his turn. 

“Restrain your fury!” he commanded, stretch- 
ing forth the dread Spear of Authority between 
the giants and the gods. “By this Spear the word 
of Wotan cannot be broken; and unless Fasolt and 
Fafner agree to accept other reward, they must 
e’en take our sister with them to the regions of 
frost.” 

At this command the contending ones fell back, 
but there arose a low cry of fear from the lovely 
Freia and a deep lamentation from the other gods. 
For how could they live without their sweet sister, 
she who gave them the apples of eternal youth? 

Meanwhile Wotan had been casting his eyes im- 
patiently from side to side. He was looking for 
his crafty counsellor, Loki, and wondering why he 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


11 


did not appear with his aid; since he it was who had 
promised to find a way out of the bargain. 

“Come, decide!” said the giants, again stepping 
forward. 

“ Only one hour more,” pleaded Wotan. “I 
must confer with my counsellor who is just now 
absent.” 

“Only one hour, then,” replied the giants. 

“Send out messengers in search of Loki, god of 
fire,” commanded Wotan. “Let him be summoned 
instantly.” 

But at this moment who should appear but Loki 
himself, walking in unconcernedly and looking 
about in feigned surprise as though he were the 
last person any one would wish to see. 

“Good-morrow, all!” he said airily. “That is a 
beautiful castle I see upon yon mountain height. 
I have just been examining it from every side, and 
upon my word it would defy even my arts to de- 
stroy it!” 

“Yes, yes,” replied Wotan, impatiently, begin- 
ning to be a little ashamed of his fine Walhalla. 
“But that is not the point, just now. These giants 
demand our sister Freia as their reward; and 
you remember you promised to find a substitute for 
her.” 

The sly Loki arched his eyebrows in mock sur- 
prise. 


12 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“A substitute for her!” he exclaimed. “Why, 
how could that be possible? I should think that 
Fasolt and Fafner would rather have her than all 
the treasures in the world. Is she not the goddess 
of youth and beauty?” 

At this the two gods Thor and Fro raised their 
weapons in great anger, and would have fallen 
upon Loki, had not Wotan restrained them. He 
knew the cunning of the latter, and was persuaded 
that Loki had found a plan. 

“Yes,” proceeded Loki as calmly as though 
there had been no interruption, “all the riches in 
the world would not take the place of Freia. Even 
the far-famed Rhine-Gold would hardly answer. 
And, speaking of the Rhine-Gold, do you know 
that I have just heard a strange story. 

“While passing along the banks of the Rhine, 
I became aware of the sound of pitiful weeping and 
wailing. I turned me about to see whence the 
doleful sound came, and I beheld the three Rhine- 
Daughters. They were no longer joyous and care- 
free as was their wont, but they were beating their 
breasts and tearing their hair while they cried, 
‘Our Rhine-Gold! Our Rhine-Gold! Stolen! 
Stolen !’ ” 

“What! Have they suffered the Rhine-Gold to 
be stolen?” asked Wotan in alarm. 

“ ’Tis as they said; for I stopped and questioned 



The giants bore Freia away 





THE RING OF THE CURSE 


13 


them. They said that the dwarf Alberich had 
seized upon the treasure and fled away to his earth- 
caverns, where he was even now making the magic 
Ring of Power. He has set himself up as King 
of the Nibelungs, and he purposes to rule the whole 
world.” 

The giants Fafner and Fasolt leaned eagerly 
forward and drank in every word of Loki’s story 
— as indeed he had intended they should. 

“Ah! that would be a prize worth having!” they 
exclaimed, rubbing their huge hands. “Mighty 
Wotan, if thou wilt wrest this treasure from the 
Nibelung and give it to us, we will release the god- 
dess.” 

But Wotan again grew disturbed and silent. 
He knew that the Gold rightfully belonged to the 
Rhine-Daughters, and that it would prove a danger 
even to the gods themselves, unless it were returned. 
The giants saw their advantage and followed it up. 

“Decide for yourselves,” they said, laying bold 
hands upon Freia. “Our work is done and we 
claim the reward. Either this maiden or the 
Rhine-Gold. And until you decide, she must fol- 
low us to the frost-land.” 

And unmindful of her cries of distress the giants 
bore Freia away, across the cliffs and down the 
mountain-side, the gods standing powerless to pre- 
vent. 


14 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


As they stood gazing in dismay a thin mist arose 
from the valleys, and it seemed to touch all the gods 
with blight, as it were a frost. For the goddess of 
youth and beauty was gone, and old age had al- 
ready begun to lay hand upon those that remained. 

“Come, this will never do!” exclaimed Loki in 
jeering tones. “Will you stand in your tracks and 
let old age blight you?” 

And then he began to taunt each of the gods 
separately, as was his wont. 

“Look!” cried Fricka, wife of Wotan, “the 
golden apples even now are withering. Wotan, 
husband, behold thy doom! See how thy compact 
hath wrought ruin and wreck for us all!” 

Wotan started up, fired by a sudden resolution. 

“Up, Loki!” he commanded. “Follow me. We 
must fare to the caverns of night and seize upon this 
Gold.” 

“And then ?” asked Loki. “The Rhine- 

Daughters implored thine aid. Wilt thou restore 
it to them?” 

“ ’Tis idle talk,” retorted Wotan moodily. 
“Freia the goddess of youth and beauty must be 
ransomed, else we shall all perish.” 

“Then let us hence,” said Loki, who had gained 
the point at which he had aimed from the outset. 
“Let us hence. I know a cleft in the rock, which 
serves as a chimney for the Nibelung’s forge fires. 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


15 


Perchance he is even now hammering out the Ring 
of Power. Come, let us descend into his cavernous 
dwelling.” 

So saying the god of fire wrapped his mantle 
about him and set forth, closely followed by Wotan 
with his dread Spear of Authority. 

As two simple wayfarers they travelled down the 
rocky chasm — down, down, down, and still down, 
while the hammering from the forges grew louder 
and the sulphurous smoke came curling up more 
and more thickly, till it would have suffocated any 
one but a god. 

At last they emerged into a huge cave, around 
which hurried hundreds of queer little people, each 
as ugly and crooked and dirty as Alberich. They 
were blowing the fires, pounding away upon huge 
masses of metal, or scurrying about with arm-loads 
of gold, silver, and precious stones. 

Just then the two wayfarers heard a quarrelling 
in a side passage of the cave, when in came Alberich 
himself dragging another dwarf shrieking, by the 
ear. It was Mime, his own brother, but that made 
no difference with Alberich. 

“Where’s the helmet, you rogue?” he said. “It 
shall not be well with your skin if you don’t give 
it up.” 

“Mercy, mercy!” howled Mime, the tears making 
little furrows down his dirty face. “ I haven’t got 
it done yet.” 


16 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Yes, you have! What is that you are trying to 
hide in your hands? Give it to me, I say !” 

And Alberich seized the object which Mime had 
just dropped in terror. 

“Ah! just as I thought!” continued the stronger 
brother. “Here is the magic helmet all complete; 
and this sly knave thought to keep it for himself. 
But I shall pay him for his treachery! 

“Hark you, rascals!” he continued, turning to 
all the other dwarfs. “I am your king. Ye must 
henceforth serve me alone, and pile up all your 
treasure in the royal vaults. I have this day ob- 
tained the powers of magic which make you my 
servants. At this moment you see me not; but I 
shall make myself felt among you, I promise you!” 

And with this speech he clapped the helmet upon 
his head and instantly vanished. But in his stead 
there came a pillar of mist, and out of the mist came 
his voice sternly commanding them to obey. Then 
the sharp lashes of a whip were heard right and 
left; and Mime fell groaning to the ground while 
the others retreated in terror, seemingly driven 
along a narrow way on the far side of the cavern. 
Alberich was beginning his reign with a vengeance ! 

Meanwhile the two celestial visitors had stood 
unnoticed in a side passage. While they debated 
as to the best means of making their presence 
known, Alberich came back in his true shape, car- 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


17 


rying the helmet in his hand, fondling the Ring 
upon his finger and chuckling with glee. Then he 
espied the two gods, and his brow wrinkled darkly. 

“Why come you to my caverns ?” he demanded. 
“Know you not that I am king here, and that 
strangers are not welcome?” 

“We have but come to see some of the marvels 
of which we have heard so much,” said Wotan 
pacifically. 

“Humph!” said Alberich. “You look quiet 
enough, but I think I know you both. Yet I fear 
you not, whether gods or men; for I am master 
here.” 

“And what if we are indeed gods, dear Albe- 
rich?” said Loki, taking off his mantle. “See, I 
am the god of fire, and your best friend. Do I not 
keep all your forges going?” 

“Yes, that may be true,” retorted Alberich. 
“But for all that I fear neither you nor Wotan the 
mighty. With this Ring made from the Rhine- 
Gold I can defy you all.” 

Alberich’s accustomed low cunning had vanished 
before his sudden access of power. He was no 
match for the crafty god Loki. 

“Oh, what a beautiful ring!” exclaimed the lat- 
ter, bending forward admiringly. “Is it really 
made from the far-famed Rhine-Gold?” 

“It is,” said Alberich, swelling up. “I made it 


18 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


myself, and its possession gives me everything in 
the whole world except love.” 

“But some people think that love is the chief 
thing,” said Loki. 

“Pooh! that’s because they haven’t the gold I 
have. The two do not go together anyway, and 
never will. As for me, give me gold and power.” 
And he kissed the Ring. 

“But what if some one stole the Ring while you 
slept?” persisted Loki. 

“They couldn’t,” retorted the dwarf quickly. 
“See this helmet? That silly brother of mine yon- 
der in the corner has just made it for me out of 
some more of this fine Rhine-Gold. With it I can 
change myself into any form I choose, and defy the 
sliest of robbers.” 

“Gli, that cannot be!” replied Loki. “Only the 
gods can do such things. Unless I saw such a mar- 
vel with my own eyes, I never would believe it.” 

Alberich looked with scorn upon this doubting 
fellow; then, willing to prove his boast, he put the 
helmet upon his head and muttered a few words. 
Instantly he was gone, and in his stead a huge ser- 
pent came wriggling along the floor, stretching its 
hideous jaws toward Wotan and Loki. The latter 
fled in pretended terror, while Wotan laughed 
calmly. The snake then disappeared, and the 
dwarf once more stood before them. 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


19 


“Now do you doubt my power?” he asked 
proudly. 

“Oh, it was wonderful!” exclaimed Loki, rolling 
his eyes. “I couldn’t have believed it possible! 
But I should think it would be a great deal harder 
to turn yourself into something small?” 

“ Not at all,” replied the Nibelung. “Watch 
this i” 

And before the gods were aware, he was gone 
again. They looked high and low, and there 
among the small stones a toad came hopping toward 
them. 

“Quick, put your foot on him!” exclaimed Loki. 

Wotan put his foot upon the toad, and instantly 
it was gone, and in its place Alberich lay struggling 
vainly to get out. 

“Let me up! You are crushing me!” screamed 
the dwarf. 

“Not until you give us every bit of the Rhine- 
Gold, the helmet and the Ring,” said Wotan. 

“You can have all but the helmet and the Ring; 
and there’s a lot of it — beautiful Gold!” whined 
Alberich. 

“ No, all of it!” said Wotan. 

“You can have the helmet, too. Ough! you’re 
smashing me!” 

“The Ring and all , I tell you! Here, Loki, bind 
him with that rope !” 


20 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Then take the Gold, the helmet and the Ring!” 
cried the dwarf despairingly. 

They bound him, and let him up. As soon as he 
could catch his breath, he continued, 

“Take the Ring and all! But listen well to what 
I say. My curse rests upon it for ever. Cursed 
be he who owns it, whether eating or sleeping or 
waking. Cursed be he and all his, whether god or 
devil. Sorrow and unhappiness shall go with this 
Gold through all the ends of the earth!” 

Notwithstanding this dread curse, the gods seized 
the Ring from off his finger and lost no time in 
making off with the treasure, leaving the dwarf 
grovelling upon the floor and muttering fierce 
words against them. All their care now was to 
ransom their sister and drive away the mists of old 
age. 

On their way up the mountain height they met 
the two giants bearing away the struggling Freia 
in their clutches. 

“Hold!” commanded Wotan; “bear her no 
farther. We have brought the gold to ransom 
her.” 

“Is it the far-famed Rhine-Gold?” asked Fafner. 

“See for yourselves!” said Loki, casting the glit- 
tering heap upon the earth. “In all the world ye 
will not find its like.” 

The giants gazed greedily upon the hoard, and 
drew near to parley. 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


21 


“ ’Tis indeed a wonderful treasure,” they said; 
“but the mass must equal in height and breadth the 
stature of this comely goddess.” 

“So be it,” answered Wotan, and he commanded 
that staves be set upright in the ground and that 
the Gold be heaped between them. Thor and Fro 
and others of the gods had now arrived upon the 
scene — all overjoyed at the prospect of Freia’s re- 
lease ; for already the blighting mist was beginning 
to lift, though it yet concealed the fair towers of 
Walhalla. Meanwhile Loki had been careful to 
withhold the Ring and the helmet from the rest of 
the hoard, which was now quickly heaped up be- 
tween the upright staves. 

At last, just as the Gold was exhausted, the pile 
rose above the top of Freia’s head. 

“Here, take the treasure,” said Wotan, “and re- 
lease our sister unto us.” 

“Nay, not so,” said Fafner. “I see a hole in the 
heap, and through it gleams the goddess’s hair, 
brighter than any gold. You must fill the hole. 
Cast on the helmet which yonder Loki is bearing.” 

Wotan could scarce restrain his rage at this rude 
bartering of his sister, while the impetuous Thor 
fingered his mighty hammer nervously. But Wo- 
tan saw it was useless to refuse. He made a sign 
of command to the unwilling Loki, and the lat- 
ter cast the helmet on the heap. 


22 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Fafner again walked around it, looking closely 
on every side. 

“Ah!” he exclaimed. “Here is just one more 
little crack. But through it I can see the gleam of 
the goddess’s lovely eyes. You must place the 
Ring here to make the ransom complete.” 

“Never!” cried Wotan furiously. 

“Very well, then. We shall be forced to take 
the goddess with us.” 

And once more Fasolt laid his rude hands upon 
the shrinking maiden. 

Thereupon a great tumult began. The voices 
of the gods rose in entreaty to Wotan to give up the 
Ring and save their sister and themselves. Thor 
sprang forward with uplifted hammer, while the 
hoarse voices of the giants bade defiance to them 
all. Again the dread mist crept up from the val- 
leys, and darkness descended from the clouds. 
Still Wotan remained defiant. He was turning 
away in anger from the tumult, when out of a cleft 
in the rock a weird bluish light broke forth, and 
there emerged a woman of dignified and noble 
mien. Her long black hair swept upon the ground, 
and her flowing robe seemed made of all the leaves 
and growing things of the soil. She was Erda, the 
spirit of Mother-Earth, gifted with wisdom and 
foresight such as was not given even to the gods 
themselves. 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


23 


Erda stretched her hand out warningly toward 
Wotan. 

“Yield, O Wotan!” she cried. “Escape the 
curse of the Ring, and all the hopeless woe it en- 
tails!” 

“Who art thou, boding spirit?” demanded Wo- 
tan. And in a chanting voice came back the re- 

ply: 

“All that was I know. 

All that is I know. 

All that ever shall he done. 

This as well I know. 

Erda the name I bear, 

The Fates my daughters are. 

Danger threatens dire. 

This has drawn me near. 

Hearken! hearken! hearken! 

All that is shall end. 

Heed ye well, ere dawn of doom, — 

Beware the cursed Ring!’* 

As the chant ended, the bluish light died away 
and with it vanished the warning figure. 

“G stay, dread spirit!” cried Wotan. “More 
would I learn!” 

But only silence answered him; and after gazing 
into the darkness in anxious thought, he turned 
suddenly and approached the giants. 


24 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Here is the Ring,” said he sternly, drawing it 
from his finger and placing it upon the heap. “Be- 
gone, and leave us our sister! But a curse has 
fallen upon the Gold.” 

And so it proved. The gods themselves were 
witness of the first-fruits of the curse. For as the 
two giants fell greedily to work gathering up the 
treasure, a dispute arose. Fasolt claimed that 
Fafner was taking more than his rightful share. 
They came to blows over it, when Fafner smote 
Fasolt to the ground with a blow so heavy that it 
killed him. Then the victor, unmindful of his 
deed, hastily gathered up all the wealth and de- 
parted, while the gods stood around silent and 
amazed that the curse should descend so swiftly. 
And Wotan foresaw in this tragic moment the aw- 
ful doom which was one day to descend upon them 
all, because the Gold had not been restored to the 
Rhine-Daughters. 

But his gloomy thoughts were broken just then 
by a mighty crash, like a peal of thunder. There 
upon the cliff leading to the beautiful new palace 
which had cost so much, stood Thor wielding his 
hammer upon the encircling clouds. Flashes of 
lightning burst forth. The clouds and mist rolled 
away, revealing Walhalla in all its splendour; while 
from their feet, in dazzling radiance, gleamed a 
rainbow-bridge leading across the chasm to its por- 
tals. 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


25 


“Come! let us go over to our new home!” said 
Wotan, taking his wife Fricka by the hand. 

And followed by the laughing gods and god- 
desses, who surrounded Freia, fairest of the group, 
they went across the rainbow-bridge and entered 
the stately halls of Walhalla. 

The setting sun shone brightly on the scene. The 
clouds had melted away into blue sky, leaving a 
soft radiance which seemed to encircle their new 
home in a halo of delight. The evening fragrance 
of the valleys came up to them redolent with the 
springtime of growing things. As they trod the 
shining pathway the jests and merriment of the 
gods showed their gladness in this new home that 
had been made for them at so great a cost. 

Still Wotan was not happy. He had decided 
seemingly for the best; but as he crossed the arch- 
ing bridge he heard voices from the valley far be- 
neath him, rising like the tones of conscience or the 
warnings of fate. It was the mournful song of 
the Rhine-Daughters: 

“Rhine-Gold! purest Gold! 

How fair thy gleam, 

Thy wealth untold ! 

But now thy rays 
Light not the stream; 

Ah! give them back — 

Give back the gleam, 

Rhine-Gold !” 


PART II 


THE WAR-MAIDENS 

T HE new home of the gods proved to be as 
beautiful within as it had appeared without. 
When they had all crossed the arching rain- 
bow-bridge, loud shouts of joy and admiration 
arose; for it was the most splendid palace that gods 
or mortals could ever imagine. Long porticos and 
galleries with huge sculptured pillars ran in every 
direction, leading to cool fruit arbours, or open 
courts where silvery fountains splashed. Great 
rooms opened up with ceilings so high that they 
seemed to take in the sky itself. The spacious 
floors were paved with burnished gold, and the 
walls set with polished stone and fine jewels, so that 
they blazed with light as bright as the noonday. 

On every side of the palace were smooth green- 
swards, and groves of stately trees. And in the 
midst of the largest grove of all grew the wonder- 
ful tree bearing apples of gold, from which Freia 
fed all the divine family to make them immortal. 

For a long time the gods and goddesses lived in 
W alhalla quite happily. Each morning they found 
some new beauty to admire. Each evening they 
came together for a feast or entertainment. 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


27 


But in one heart there was no happiness, and that 
was the heart of the mighty Wotan himself. His 
beautiful home, the dream of his life, was finished. 
But at what a cost! The curse of the Rhine-Gold 
would come upon them, unless the stolen treasure 
were returned to its rightful guardians. The gods 
themselves would be destroyed, if they kept not 
their honour. 

So Wotan sat apart from the rest, and his brow 
grew dark with forebodings. Fricka, his wife, 
gently chided him for his gloom but to no avail, 
and even the beautiful Freia could no longer make 
him smile. When any of the other gods praised 
the beauty of the palace, he would nod his head and 
answer: “Its price was great.” 

Finally Wotan could endure his anxiety no 
longer. Knowing that unless some way were 
found to restore the Gold they would be in constant 
peril, he resolved to consult Erda, the earth-spirit. 
So, one day he took his Spear of Authority and 
went forth into the world to find a way out of the 
trouble which had come to him with Walhalla. 

The weeks grew into months and the months 
into years, while Wotan was gone. The other 
gods sought him in vain, but could hear no tidings. 
They wondered what had become of him, and the 
feasting and revelry gave way to sad forebodings. 
Only Fricka, the queen, went about with some 
measure of confidence. 


28 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Be not sad,” she said. “Wotan will return 
soon, bringing with him some great means of safety 
and content.” 

Fricka spoke true. One fair day at early dawn 
the gods were awakened by the sound of war-like 
singing. It was entirely different from their own 
music, and it seemed borne to them on the wings of 
the wind. Nearer and nearer came the song, swell- 
ing into a splendid strain of triumph. Then flying 
figures were descried, and the watchers at the win- 
dow saw Wotan returning to them as it were 
through the clouds. He was in the midst of a com- 
pany of maidens, whose faces were fair but who 
were strong and soldier-like. Each rode upon a 
powerful horse, and, wonder of wonders, the horses 
had wings like eagles and flew swiftly through the 
air! 

There were nine of these horses and riders in all, 
and so fast did they ride that they had reached the 
palace gates, dismounted, and were being led within 
by Wotan almost before the first strains of music 
had died away. 

You may believe that all the gods and goddesses 
were exceedingly glad when they saw Wotan again ; 
and they hastened out upon the battlements to greet 
him and give him love and honour. To one and all 
he replied full pleasantly. His brow was clearer 
than it had been in many a day ; and it was with the 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


29 


sprightliness of youth that he led the nine fair war- 
riors up the broad palace steps. Then turning he 
addressed his court. 

“These are the War Maidens/’ he said, “who 
come to guard our kingdom from its enemies. It 
is their mission to ride up and down in all the world, 
to choose the bravest heroes who have fallen in bat- 
tle, and to bring them to Walhalla. With all these 
heroes we shall be protected from peril in the evil 
days to come.” 

Then Wotan introduced each War Maiden by 
name, beginning with Brunhilde, who was the 
strongest and loveliest. And they were welcomed 
royally to the palace by all who lived therein. The 
golden apples of life were given them to eat, and 
they became immortal. 

Day by day the War Maidens rode forth into 
b'attle, seeking for the bravest men. Whenever 
they found one who had fallen in the forefront of 
conflict, they carried him to Walhalla where he be- 
came immortal. There was much fighting in the 
world in those days, so the palace soon received 
many mighty soldiers, and Wotan grew light of 
heart. For now, he thought, he could defy the 
dwarf’s curse and all the powers of the under- 
world. So he trained his soldiers constantly, and 
had them continually in battle, one against another. 
And if one by chance received a wound it healed of 
itself through magic power. 


30 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Still the loss of the Gold and of the Ring was an 
ever-present danger. Wotan knew this, and cast 
about for some means to restore the treasure to the 
Rhine-D aught ers so that the peril might be re- 
moved. 

Now Fafner the giant had taken the Gold to a 
cave in the midst of a dense forest. By the aid of 
the magic helmet he had changed himself into a 
fierce dragon, and in this shape he guarded the 
mouth of the cave night and day. So you see that 
he wasn’t getting very much pleasure out of his 
hoard. 

Being a god, Wotan of course knew where Faf- 
ner the dragon lay hid. But neither he nor any 
of the gods could attack Fafner or lay hands upon 
the treasure. It had been given the giant in open 
barter and so was beyond their recall. But Wotan 
reasoned that if some earth-born hero could be 
found brave enough to slay the dragon, the Gold 
could be secured. Failing this, the dwarf Alberich 
might in the end be crafty enough to regain it and 
wreak his vengeance upon the gods. 

The peril was still great therefore, in spite of the 
warriors in Walhalla. Wotan realised all this and 
resolved to journey again through the world in 
quest of a hero to attack the dragon. For many 
days he searched without success. Then he chose 
a son of his own for the great task, living with him 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


31 


as a simple forester while the boy grew up, and 
training him to warlike deeds. The boy’s name 
was Siegmund, and as he reached young manhood 
he was straight as a young pine-tree in the forest 
and strong as the oak which defies the winds of 
heaven. 

While Siegmund was still a youth a great sor- 
row befell him. Sieglinde, a young girl of his own 
age with whom he had grown up, and whom he 
looked upon as a sister, was seized by a fierce hunter 
and carried away to his home in the forest. For 
many months Siegmund sought to rescue her, but 
without success. He grew to manhood with this 
object before him, and vowed eternal warfare 
against the hunter and all his clan, — a vow Wotan 
aided him to keep, until the very name of Siegmund 
became a terror to the hunter. 

Then another sudden grief befell the young 
warrior. Wotan mysteriously went away one day, 
leaving no trace and no message save that when 
Siegmund should be in direst need he would find 
a trusty sword at hand to aid him. Siegmund now 
felt forsaken indeed; and he roamed about aim- 
lessly in the forests, hunting the wild beasts, help- 
ing people in distress, or fighting against the 
hunter’s tribe. 

One night, utterly spent from his wanderings, he 
sought shelter in a house built in a peculiar manner 


32 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


round the trunk of a great oak-tree. Seeing no one 
within the main room he entered, closed the door 
behind him, and lay down exhausted in front of the 
fire, where he soon fell fast asleep. 

Presently a maiden came into the room. She 
expected to find the hunter there, for this was none 
other than his house, although Siegmund did not 
know it. When instead of the master of the house 
the maiden saw the stranger lying upon the hearth, 
she sprang back in sudden fear. But the poor man 
did not move, so she came gently to his side, to see 
whether he were alive or dead. Siegmund stirred 
uneasily in his sleep, then, wakening, tried to utter 
a few words, but his parched lips gave forth little 
sound. Seeing his pitiable state, the maiden has- 
tened to give him a drink. It revived him some- 
what, and he sat up and gazed around. The 
maiden gave him more of the cup and gently asked 
him whence he came. He answered and began 
telling her of his wanderings without revealing his 
name. Just then the hunter himself arrived; but 
neither he nor Siegmund recognised the other as 
his sworn enemy ; and the hunter, noting the young 
man’s distressed condition, bade him welcome for 
the night and invited him to the table to share his 
food. Siegmund accepted the invitation joyfully, 
and soon found his strength returning to him in the 
meat and drink. 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


33 


In answer to his host’s questions, he told the 
story of his past adventures ; and the hunter found, 
for the first time, that his guest was the foe whom 
he had long been seeking to slay. 

“Ha! I know you now!” he exclaimed, springing 
to his feet. “It is you who have done so much harm 
to me and mine! I would make you answer for 
your deeds here and now, were it not for the sacred 
laws of hospitality. But to-morrow I shall meet 
you! At sunrise be ready to fight and give me 
.full satisfaction!” 

\ ^iegmund was astonished in his turn, but could 
not rafuS^the Gll^lIeVige. The hunter left him with 
these words, bidding the maiden also go into another 
room. 

Left to himself the young man fell again into 
heaviness of spirit. It seemed to him that sorrow 
and trouble had followed him all the days of his 
life. He mused over his present defenceless condi- 
tion — alone, unarmed and under his enemy’s very 
roof. Then he recalled his father’s promise, that 
a sword would be ready at his hand when his need 
was direst. Somehow the thought of this promise 
brought comfort to him, and he fell into a quiet 
slumber. 

After a time, during the stillness of night, a door 
opened softly and the maiden came toward him. 

“Up!” she said, gently rousing him. “Up and 


34 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


flee for your life! The hunter has been planning 
mischief against you, but I gave him a sleeping 
draught.” 

“Why should I flee?” said Siegmund. “Give 
me but a sword and I turn my back upon no man! 
But who are you, fair lady, who do this kindness to 
a stranger? Methinks I have seen your face in 
earlier days than this.” 

“And I also seem to remember you,” she an- 
swered, gazing at him earnestly, “My story is not 
a long one, but it is sad. When I was a little girl, 
this cruel hunter carried me away from home, and 
he has compelled me to live with him ever since. 
But one day during a feast a strange-looking man 
with only one eye came in, bearing a mighty sword. 
He drove the sword to the hilt in the trunk of yon- 
der tree, with one sweep of his arm, declaring that 
it was for only one man — the man who should be 
able to pull it forth again. Many stout men that 
day and since have tried to claim the sword, but 
there it sticks, where you may see the firelight strike 
the handle. Perchance, poor stranger, it was left 
for you!” 

“Ah, now I know my father’s words were true!” 
Siegmund cried, joyously. “See! the sword is 
mine !” 

And laying hold of the handle he drew the shin- 
ing blade as easily as though the tree had been its 
scabbard. 



The two were re-united in a fond embrace 




THE RING OF THE CURSE 


35 


“And thou, also, I know, my heart’s best! Thou 
art Sieglinde, for whom I have sought all these 
years. Dost thou not remember thine old play- 
mate Siegmund?” 

She gazed at him first with startled look; then 
a tender light of memory and love dawned in her 
eyes. Siegmund stretched out his arms to her and 
the two were reunited in a fond embrace. 

“Come!” said Siegmund; “now will I flee, and 
thou must go with me. My father’s sword shall 
shield us both, and never again while I live shall 
this robber have thee in his clutches.” 

The moon was shining brightly on this warm 
night in early spring. The wide world seemed to 
beckon her two children forth; and answering her 
summons and the glad call of their own hearts they 
fled away. 

King Wotan knew all these things. He knew 
that his dearly loved son Siegmund had found the 
magic sword, and had fled from the hunter’s home. 
He foresaw also that the hunter would rise up full 
of wrath the next day, and pursue Siegmund to 
kill him. This must be prevented. The god sum- 
moned Brunhilde before him. 

“Wisest and fairest of War Maidens,” he said, 
“in yonder mountain gorge thou wilt discover a 
young man and a maiden who are dear to me. 


36 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


The maiden has been stolen away from a hunter 
who held her against her will, and the hunter now 
pursues the young man with intent to slay him. 
It is my will that he be not slain, but that he gain 
the victory over the hunter. See thou to it!” 

Brunhilde gladly listened to Wotan’s behest. 

“It shall be done as thou desirest!” she exclaimed. 
“Hoyo-to-ho!” — the musical shout of the War 
Maidens came from her lips as she sprang from 
cliff to cliff and disappeared. 

But she had hardly gone before Fricka, Wotan’s 
queen, entered in a chariot drawn by two rams. 
Now Fricka was goddess of love and justice, and 
it grieved her that Siegmund should be allowed to 
take Sieglinde away with him as he had done. 

“Justice, O Wotan!” she cried, “against the 
young man Siegmund! The hunter from whose 
house he fled away, carrying the maiden Sieglinde, 
has called to me for help, and I have promised to 
aid him.” 

“The hunter held the maid against her will,” re- 
plied Wotan. 

“Nathless his right to her had become recognised 
among men. So she must be restored to him, else 
men will say that there is no justice in the world.” 

Wotan’s brow was wrinkled moodily. He knew 
that Sieglinde had dwelt so many years under the 
hunter’s roof that all men believed she rightfully 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


37 


belonged there. Yet in his heart he longed to pro- 
tect his son. 

Fricka saw the struggle but would not relent. 
She added many words to what she had said and 
urged her case so strongly that every law the gods 
had made seemed enlisted in the hunter’s cause. 
At last Wotan, heavy in spirit, agreed to give the 
victory to him. 

After Fricka had departed, he called Brunhilde 
again to him and told her of his last decision. 
Brunhilde was full of grief when she learned that 
she must aid the hunter against Siegmund. 

“Why dost thou do this, O father?” she asked 
gently. 

“Because the laws of the gods demand it,” he an- 
swered. 

Then the sorrow-stricken Wotan unburdened his 
heart to her and told her of the Rhine-Gold ; of the 
Ring that had been fashioned from it; of the curse 
that had followed; and of many other things which 
we have set forth in this book. 

“The curse of the Ring is the fate of Siegmund,” 
he concluded. “That is why I am powerless to 
protect him. See that thou dost obey my latest 
command !” 

So saying he departed, amid the rumblings of a 
thundercloud, leaving Brunhilde full of sorrow at 
the strange tale she had heard and the sad errand 
she must perform. 


38 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


But she turned her steps dutifully down the 
mountain gorge, and there in a sheltering cave she 
found the young man and maiden. Sieglinde had 
become tired out from their wanderings, and Sieg- 
inund had borne her into the cave and was support- 
ing her head upon his knee, while smoothing back 
the stray locks of gold from her lovely forehead. 
So intent was he upon this devotion that he did not 
see Brunhilde when she came into the entrance. 

If the War Maiden had longed to befriend these 
two before she saw them, how much more did her 
heart soften when she beheld this sweet picture! 
But her duty must be done. She called softly to 
Siegmund and he raised his head. 

“I am the War Maiden,” she said, “and am sent 
to warn thee of thy fate. Thine enemy follows 
hard upon thy heels; and none who look upon my 
face survive a battle.” 

“I fear not for the battle,” answered Siegmund 
stoutly. “This magic sword was left me by my 
father, and with it I must surely be victorious !” 

“It will avail thee not; for the gods have decreed 
that thou must die. But glory awaits thee in Wal- 
halla, whither I am summoned to bear thee after 
death.” 

“What is Walhalla?” he asked. 

“It is the Hall of Heroes, among whom thou wilt 
be first.” 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


89 


“Will I find my father there, and my sweet com- 
rade Sieglinde?” 

The search for these two had consumed the youth- 
ful warrior’s whole life, so his voice trembled 
eagerly as he asked this question. 

Brunhilde smiled, then shook her head sadly. 

“Thy father? — Yes, in Walhalla shalt thou find 
him. But Sieglinde cannot come to thee there.” 

“Then take my greetings to Walhalla!” he ex- 
claimed. 

“Greet for me Wotan ! 

Hail to my father 
And all the heroes! 

Hail the War Maidens ; 

For now I follow not thee!” 

By this time Brunhilde’s heart had become so 
touched that she boldly resolved to disobey Wotan’s 
last command, and do as he really desired. Smil- 
ing upon Siegmund, she bade him be of good heart, 
as she had only been testing his courage. Then she 
told him she would be with him and aid him in the 
coming strife. 

Even while she spoke the hunter’s horn was heard, 
and soon the man himself came hastening fiercely 
along. He did not see Siegmund at first, for a 
heavy storm had come up, while the heavens seemed 
rent with terrific crashes of thunder. The din 
finally aroused the sleeping Sieglinde, and she 


40 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


gazed around wildly. Siegmund had sprung out 
of the cave to confront his enemy; and there in 
front of the cave he stood revealed by a flash of 
lightning battling strongly with the hunter. Sieg- 
linde uttered a cry of grief and was about to rush 
between them when another sudden blaze of light 
made her draw back. At one side she beheld the 
War Maiden standing ready to protect Siegmund. 
The young man pressed upon the hunter and was 
about to strike him to the earth with his trusty 
sword, when a glowing red flame burst through the 
clouds. Wotan himself appeared with his dread 
Spear and stretched it across the sword. The 
magic blade broke in sunder, and Siegmund fell 
dead, pierced by the hunter’s weapon. But the 
hunter himself did not survive the conflict, for a 
glance from the single blazing eye of the angry god 
stretched him lifeless on the sward. 

When Wotan appeared, Brunhilde started back 
amazed and fearful. She began to realise what it 
meant to disobey the god’s command. Hastily 
seizing the fainting form of Sieglinde she sprang 
upon her winged steed and fled swiftly from the 
tragic scene. Far and fast through the storm she 
sped, glancing around fearfully ever and anon, and 
fancying each rumble of the thunder was Wotan’s 
voice. Then she turned her horse’s head toward 
the summit of a lofty crag. It was the usual meet- 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


41 


ing-place of all the War Maidens on their way to 
Walhalla. Soon the crag came in sight, and there 
awaiting her were her eight companions, hailing 
her swift approach with “Hoyo-to-ho!” their battle 
cry. 

Hardly taking time to answer their joyous greet- 
ings, Brunhilde placed Sieglinde gently on the 
ground and cried, 

“Save us, O my sister! Save us from the wrath 
of Wotanl” 

“Why, what crime hast thou committed ?” cried 
the other War Maidens in alarm. 

“I have disobeyed the god’s command, and even 
now he rides hard after me upon the wings of the 
tempest! Save this innocent mortal, at least! 
She has done no wrong.” 

“I do not wish for life!” exclaimed Sieglinde, 
who had just recovered consciousness. “Why 
should I live when Siegmund is dead? I pray you 
draw your sword and slay me!” 

“Not so,” said Brunhilde soothingly. “The 
Fates decree that thou must live. And see, I have 
saved for thee the Sword of Need which was broken 
in Siegmund’s hands. Keep it for his son, the 
hero who shall know no fear, and he shall do mighty 
deeds with its mended blade.” 

So saying Brunhilde drew from the folds of her 
cloak the two pieces of the broken sword and gave 


42 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


them to Sieglinde and whispered in her ear words 
of tenderness and balm. And Sieglinde’s face lost 
its hopeless look, and she promised to go wherever 
the War Maiden might direct. 

“Haste thee, then!” urged Brunhilde. “The 
time is short. In only one place wilt thou be safe 
from Wotan, and that is the depth of yonder forest. 
There dwells Fafner the dragon, and there Wotan 
never ventures because of the curse of the Ring. 

The tempest had increased in fury while Brun- 
hilde was speaking. The dense darkness shielded 
Sieglinde while she hurried away. She was scarce 
gone, hugging the precious sword, when a terrific 
clap of thunder shook the whole cliff and Wotan 
appeared in a flash of light. 

“Brunhilde! Brunhilde!” he called. 

Brunhilde did not answer; and the other War 
Maidens, braving his anger through loyalty and 
love for their sister, hid her in their midst. 

“Brunhilde!” again thundered Wotan, “stand 
forth! Art afraid to hear thy doom?” 

“Not so, O mighty father!” replied Brunhilde; 
and she stepped forward proudly and knelt at his 
feet. 

“Ah, Brunhilde! how couldst thou disobey my 
command?” asked Wotan more in sadness than in 
anger. “Thou hast brought thy fate upon thy- 
self.” 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


43 


“I but tried to save one who was dear to thee,” 
she answered. 

“But thou didst violate my will, and henceforth 
can be a War Maiden no more. Thou must de- 
scend to earth, lose thy immortality, and live the 
life of any other woman.” 

On hearing this terrible decree, by which she lost 
the rank of goddess, Brunhilde sank upon the 
ground with a piteous cry. 

“Have mercy, O Wotan!” she pleaded. “I tried 
to meet the wishes of thy heart, as given in thy 
first command. Do not banish me for ever from 
my dear sisters and thy beloved presence. Have 
mercy!” 

“Have mercy!” cried her sisters, stretching out 
their hands toward the god. 

“Silence!” said Wotan solemnly. “I have 
spoken, and it must be done. Ah, dearly loved 
maiden, how gladly would I save thee if it were 
so decreed! But thou must sink to the ground in 
deep sleep. And it shall come to pass that in after 
years the man who shall awaken thee shall claim 
thee for his bride.” 

“As for ye other maidens,” he continued, glanc- 
ing around with a flash of the eye, “beware how ye 
fail to keep faith with me again! And come not 
again into my presence this day.” 

The War Maidens fled in woe and terror at this 


44 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


speech, leaving Brunhilde and Wotan alone upon 
the rock. The sky was clearing, the wind was dy- 
ing away, and the moon came forth and looked 
down upon the scene. There was silence for many 
long moments, until Brunhilde, unable to endure it, 
rose slowly to her feet in all her beauty and pride, 
yet with wild entreaty in her voice. 

“Oh, father, father!” she pleaded, “save me from 
this fate, for the honour of all gods ! Do not place 
me within reach of any coward among men, who 
might chance to awaken me. If I must fall asleep 
to wake a mortal woman, grant me this last request. 
Place me in some spot so hedged about with danger 
that none but the bravest of all men may find me 
and claim me for his own!” 

Wotan gazed at her — all the old love and pride 
for her shining in his eyes. He gently drew her to 
him and kissed her upon the eyelids. 

“It shall be as thou dost wish,” he said. “I shall 
shield thee with a barrier of living fire so that none 
save a true hero can rescue thee. And now fare- 
well, my darling child! How I shall miss thee in 
Walhalla, and on our rides of glory, thou dost little 
know. Farewell! farewell!” 

Brunhilde clasped her arms about his neck and 
smiled for the last time in his face. He bent down 
and kissed her again, and yet again. A deep sleep 
came over her and she sank slowly down. Wotan 
carried her tenderly to a low mound of moss upon 


V 







Instantly a stream of fire gushed forth 





THE RING OF THE CURSE 


45 


the very crest of the towering rock, and there he 
placed his shield over her to protect her from all 
harm. Again he gazed long and mournfully on 
her features, then closed the visor of the helmet she 
wore, and turning began a mystic waving of his 
Spear of Authority. He ended by summoning 
Loki, god of fire. 

“Loki, hark, 

Hitherward haste, 

As I found thee first, 7 

In a fiery waste; 

As once thou didst fly 
In fiery display; 

As then I did call thee 
I call thee to-day! 

Arise with thy flaming — 

Encircle this place, ' 

To daunt the craven 

Whom my spear could not face! 

Loki ! Loki ! arise Y* 

At the last call he struck the rock thrice with his 
Spear, and instantly a stream of fire gushed forth 
and licked upward in tongues of flame from every 
side. Higher and wider they spread, leaping and 
crackling till they formed a complete circle round 
the mossy bed where Brunhilde lay sleeping. And 
as they swept upward in the night air they seemed 
to blend in strains of music sweet as the thrumming 
of a harp and soft as the lullaby of a mother croon- 
ing her child to sleep. 


PART III 

SIEGFRIED THE FEARLESS 

S EVERAL years passed by while Brunhilde 
lay in her enchanted sleep. Summers and 
winters came and went, yet still she lay there 
unharmed in her magic circle of fire, and growing 
no whit older than when she first sank down in 
slumber, in all her youth and beauty. 

Down in the depths of the forest far below the 
crag on which she rested, Fafner the dragon still 
guarded the Rhine-Gold and Ring. He had come 
to be known only as the dragon, because — giant 
though he was — he had always been afraid to leave 
this hideous shape lest some one should overcome 
him and seize the treasure. 

And he had good cause to fear. Although the 
Gold bore a curse with it, there was more than one 
who sought to lay hand upon it. W otan the mighty 
had even forsaken the beautiful palace of Walhalla 
which cost him so much, and was now roaming over 
the earth seeking some hero to slay the dragon. 
He had indeed come to be known as the “ Wan- 
derer” because of his constant search. The dwarfs 

46 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


47 


also had by no means forgotten the glittering hoard 
which had been taken away from them. Alberich 
went about in sullen discontent, biding his time; 
while Mime, his brother who had made the magic 
helmet, could not forget the Gold night or day. 
Mime knew where the dragon lay hid, so he set 
about laying plans to outwit or slay him. 

Now the dwarfs had always lived deep down in 
the caves of the earth. They had seemed actually 
afraid of the sunlight, and it may be that they were 
afraid of their own shadows, for no greater cow- 
ards ever lived. But with all their cowardice they 
were sly, and had a wonderful faculty of finding 
out all sorts of secrets. Mime had discovered the 
whole story of the Gold, the helmet, the Ring, the 
curse, the building of Walhalla, and the dread which 
had fallen upon the gods. He learned of all this 
and many other things ; and he laughed and rubbed 
his hands craftily. 

“Aha!” he said, “I will find a way to seize the 
Ring and rule the whole world! I will watch this 
dragon day and night, and sooner or later I shall 
surprise him.” 

So Mime the dwarf summoned up courage 
enough to appear above ground. He betook him- 
self to Fafner’s forest, where he soon found the 
huge monster crouched before the door of his cave. 
For many days and nights Mime lay hid, waiting 


48 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


for a chance to slip past the great beast, but no such 
chance came. 

“I shall have to kill him,” said Mime to himself. 
And at the bare thought his teeth chattered with 
fear. “But even if I had a sword stout enough 
and long enough to reach his heart, I should never 
have courage enough to wield it.” 

This thought was very discouraging to him, yet 
he was unwilling to give up hope of the Gold. F or 
many more days he pondered and plotted, till at 
last he thought of a plan. 

“I have it I” he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. “I 
shall build a blacksmith’s forge hard by here in the 
wood, where I shall make nothing but swords. At 
last my skill will bring forth the best blade in the 
world, and I shall off er it to the mightiest hero who 
may come riding by. Who knows? Perhaps one 
will be found brave enough to fight the dragon, 
when I tell him just how to do it. Then after he 
kills the dragon — we will see!” 

He chuckled at the cunning plan he had made, 
while the evil light in his eyes boded no good for the 
after fate of the chosen hero. 

This plan seemed wild, yet it was the best that 
offered, so Mime began at once. He built his 
smithy, and having been used to this trade all his 
life in the under-world, he speedily felt quite at 
home. Soon his forge-fires shone brightly through 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


49 


the forest, and the sound of his hammering dis- 
turbed the birds and beasts. 

One day during a lull in his work he heard a faint 
tap at his door. He asked harshly who was there, 
but receiving no reply he peered cautiously outside. 
There on the threshold lay a poor woman feebly 
holding a little child in her arms. Her strength 
seemed spent, and even the rough Mime felt pity 
for her distress. He carried her into the smithy 
and laid her near the forge-fire, then hastened to 
pour some cordial down her throat. The drink re- 
vived her slightly and she sat up and tried to lift 
the child. 

“Take care of him,” she gasped. “His name is 
Siegfried. He comes from a race of heroes.” 

“How am I to know that he is of hero born?” 
asked the dwarf bluntly. 

“Here, here!” she answered eagerly, drawing 
some fragments of a sword from the folds of her 
dress. “It was his father’s sword — the wonderful 
Sword of Need. Keep it safe for him and he shall 
do — mighty — deeds — ” 

Her voice trailed into silence, and the dwarf 
bending down perceived that she was dead. 

It was poor Sieglinde who had hid away from the 
wrath of Wotan, as Brunhilde had bidden her. At 
last her sad life was ended, and perchance her spirit 
found peace with that of Siegmund in some happier 
clime. 


50 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Mime now turned his attention to the little child 
for the first time. He saw that its limbs were 
sturdily knit, and that already it held its head erect 
and looked one squarely in the eye — which was 
more than the dwarf had ever done in his whole life. 

“Who knows ?” muttered Mime. “This may be 
the hero for whom I have been waiting. I will 
bring him up as my son, and train him to my set 
purpose. At any rate he could soon be useful blow- 
ing the fire.” 

So he adopted the little Siegfried and cared for 
him, during his helpless days, in a dwarf’s rude 
way. He hollowed out a log for the baby’s cradle, 
and spread a bearskin over it. He gave him goat’s 
milk to drink, and let him play with the broken 
handles of swords. Every fair mornin’g he car- 
ried him out into the bright sunshine and left him 
to kick his heels and shout back answers to the sing- 
ing birds. But the dwarf himself rarely ventured 
outdoors. He seemed to prefer the soot and 
smoke of his forge-fire. He hammered away, and 
hummed a moody tune, and took comfort in think- 
ing of the day when this foster-child should be sent 
to slay the dragon. 

But if Mime had expected the lad to mend the 
fires and work in the shop, he soon found himself 
mistaken. The little fellow thrived wonderfully 
and took to the life of the forest naturally. On the 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


51 


other hand, he had no use for the forge or, it must 
be confessed, for his foster-father. He soon came 
to despise the dwarf as a coward, for he himself 
showed no fear of anything. So he roamed every 
day in the forest returning only at nightfall with 
some animal he had slain. Once he harnessed a 
wild bear with ropes and drove it into the black- 
smith’s shop, nearly causing Mime to fly out of his 
wits from terror. 

When Siegfried arrived at young manhood he 
was a goodly sight to look upon. His limbs were 
strong and powerful, yet rounded and graceful. 
His skin was tinged with the ruddy hue of outdoor 
life. His fair hair fell in soft curls to his shoul- 
ders, as the manner then was ; and his blue eyes met 
one’s look frankly and fearlessly. 

Though he had been taught to look upon Mime 
as his father, Siegfried soon rejected this belief 
with scorn. He felt no love for the dwarf, such as 
a son would feel; and he could not help contrasting 
his own powerful frame and courage with the 
smith’s weak, cringing way. The only tie which 
now bound them together was a promise made by 
the dwarf that he would forge a sword with which 
Siegfried could win every battle. The young man 
waited impatiently for this sword to be made; and 
Mime actually worked early and late to finish it. 
But alas! no sooner would he temper a blade so 


52 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


that it seemed perfect, when Siegfried would return 
from the chase and say, 

“Ho ! this is the sword you have made for me to- 
day!” 

And he would shiver it to bits upon the anvil. 

This went on day after day, until Siegfried lost 
all patience and began to threaten the dwarf. 

“Hark you, Mime!” he cried. “Give me the 
stout blade you promised, or it will not go well 
with you to-morrow night.” 

“You would not harm your father!” whined the 
dwarf. “Remember how I have cared for you and 
sheltered you.” 

“I have long since paid that score in meat and 
skins,” answered Siegfried. “And as for you be- 
ing my father, you know that is false. Answer me 
directly! I would know who my father was!” 

His manner was so threatening that the dwarf 
was thoroughly frightened. 

“I — I — do not know who your father was,” he 
stammered; “your mother was Sieglinde, a poor 
woman whom I sheltered here when you were a 
baby. She gave me an old broken sword. See, 
here it is !” 

And he rummaged beneath a pile of skins and 
brought to light the pieces of the magic Sword of 
Need. 

“Ha! that is good metal!” cried Siegfried, as he 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


53 


examined it. “I will have no sword but this. See 
to it that ’tis mended for me ’gainst another night.” 

The smith promised, though in a quaking voice, 
for he was by no means certain that he could mend 
the weapon. His fears were well founded. When 
he tried to do so, the next day, the pieces refused to 
unite in his hands. After making repeated at- 
tempts he sank down behind the anvil in despair. 

At this moment a strange-looking man entered 
the doorway. He was tall and powerful. He 
wore a long dark cloak, and carried a spear instead 
of a staff. On his head was a large hat whose 
broad brim shaded one eye that was evidently in- 
jured or missing. 

“The Wanderer!” muttered the dwarf in abject 
fear. 

It was indeed Wotan the Wanderer. 

“What are you doing here?” he demanded in a 
voice of thunder, pointing to the broken blade. 

“I — I am trying to mend the — the Sword of 
Need,” said the dwarf. He knew there was no use 
in telling an untruth, as Wotan had already recog- 
nised the weapon. 

“Where did you get it?” Wotan asked. 

“ ’Twas given me by Sieglinde the mother of 
Siegfried. Mercy, mercy! I cannot mend it!” 

“Peace, fool! You speak truth. No one but 
the hero who knows no fear can weld those pieces 
together !” 


54 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


So saying he struck his spear upon the floor with 
a noise like thunder and turning strode away into 
the forest. 

Mime dared not look after him or ask any ques- 
tions. Indeed, he was in such utter terror that he 
did not venture from behind the anvil, where he 
lay hid all day. And here it was that Siegfried 
found him when he returned home. 

“Mime, have you got my sword done yet?” he 
called. 

“Pardon! pardon!” whined the dwarf. “Oh, I 
have had such an awful scare!” 

“A scare? What is that?” asked Siegfried. 

“I mean, I have been in dreadful fear,” answered 
Mime. 

“Fear? What is that?” asked Siegfried. 

“Know you not what fear is?” said Mime, start- 
ing up and remembering Wotan’s words that only 
the hero who knew no fear could mend the sword. 

The young man shook his head. 

Mime pressed the subject further. “Suppose 
you should meet a great monster in the forest,” he 
said; “a huge dragon whose eyes and mouth shot 
fire, whose tail lashed this way and that, tearing 
down the trees, whose tongue was sharp as a sword, 
and whose terrible fangs could crush you like an 
insect. Suppose this terrible dragon should come 
rushing down to devour you. How would you 
feel?” 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


55 


“There is no such beast as that/’ replied Sieg- 
fried, smiling. 

“Oh, but there is!” urged the dwarf, his own eyes 
growing big with alarm as he thought of Fafner. 
“There is! Down in the depths of this very forest 
lurks a dragon ten times more dreadful than I have 
said. He lies crouched in a thicket before a cave, 
and even the gods are afraid to come near him.” 

“Then he would be worth fighting!” exclaimed 
Siegfried with flashing eyes. “Forge me this 
sword as you promised, and then show me the way 
to his lair!” 

“I cannot mend the blade,” confessed Mime sul- 
lenly. “Only he who has no fear in his heart can 
mend it or wield it.” 

Siegfried glanced at him a moment in anger; 
then as if despairing of getting the dwarf to do the 
work, he seized the fragments with one hand and 
the bellows with the other. 

“Stand aside!” he commanded. “I will mend 
the blade.” 

And he set to work while the dwarf looked on 
in wonder. 

First Siegfried took a file and began rubbing the 
steel into fine powder. 

“Stop!” screamed the dwarf. “You are ruining 
it.” 

“Oh, no, I am not,” laughed Siegfried, filing the 
faster. 


56 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Soon the sword, all but the handle, was changed 
into powder. Then Siegfried placed the powder 
over the fire and blew a bright blaze underneath it. 
And as he worked the bellows he sang from pure 
joy in his work, 

“Hoho! hoho! 

Hahei! hahei! 

Bellows blow 
The blaze on high! 

Deep in the wood 
There lived a tree. 

Its ashes here 
In the flames I see. 

Hoho! hoho! 

Hahei! hahei! 

Bellows blow: 

The tree must die! 

But the flashing fire 
Hath won its way; 

It sputters and flares 
In the metal’s spray. 

Hoho! hoho! 

Hahei! hahei! 

Bellows blow 
The flame on high! 

The Sword of Need 
Will soon be made 
And then aloft 
I shall flash my blade V* 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


57 


When he finished the song the powder had be- 
come a molten mass. He ran this into a mould 
and plunged it into the water. The loud hiss of 
cooling metal was heard. Presently he seized the 
new blade with a pair of pincers and heated it red 
hot. Allowing it to remain but a moment in the 
coals, he placed it upon the anvil and beat it mighty 
blows till the blade was sharp and thin. Then heat- 
ing it once again he fastened it to the handle. 

He swung the weapon critically and tested its 
temper. Again he heated it, and beat it till the 
shop was filled with flying sparks. But now it 
emerged bright and keen — the most perfect blade 
in all the world. Triumphantly he sang, 

“Ah, Sword of Need! 

Anew thou art wrought; 

Back unto life and strength 
Thou art brought!” 

“See, Mime! This is the sword I wished you to 
forge !” 

And making the sword whistle about his head he 
brought it down squarely upon the anvil. From 
top to bottom the heavy anvil was cleaved, falling 
into two pieces with a thundering noise. 

“Farewell!” cried Siegfried; “the smithy sees me 
no more from this day. I go to seek the dragon!” 
And he hurried forth with his wonderful new sword 
into the forest. 


58 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Wait a moment!” called Mime, running after 
him; “you cannot find the cave unless I show you 
the way.” 

“I thought you were too great a coward for that,” 
laughed Siegfried. 

“Who’s afraid?” panted the dwarf as he caught 
up with him. “Besides I am only going to point 
out the place. You are the one that’s going to be 
eaten!” 

In fact Mime was quite anxious to have the 
young man meet the dragon. No matter how the 
fight turned out, he reasoned that he himself would 
be the gainer. In the event of Siegfried killing 
the beast and escaping unharmed, Mime intended 
to give him a poisonous draught which he had pre- 
pared. Then with both these foes out of the way, 
the dwarf believed that the wonderful Gold of the 
curse would be his without any further struggle. 

But in this Mime was wrong, for his brother Al- 
berich, who had first stolen the Gold from the 
Rhine-maidens, was even then watching the drag- 
on’s cave and had been on guard there night and 
day. Wotan the Wanderer found him there upon 
this day of fate, and unheeding the dwarf’s taunts 
and reproaches told him of Siegfried’s and Mime’s 
approach. Alberich now hid behind some rocks to 
watch what should happen. 

“See, that is the cave,” said Mime, pointing it 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


59 


out to Siegfried when they were still some distance 
away. “I can go no farther, as I am very tired 
from running to catch up with you. But go 
straight ahead, and I wish you success — and the 
dragon an equal amount 1” The last words he mut- 
tered to himself, then scurried for a safe place 
where he could watch the fight. 

It was a beautiful morning, and the birds were 
carolling sweetly in the tree-tops. Siegfried cast 
himself down upon the sward to rest himself and 
enjoy the quiet sylvan scene a little while. The 
birds seemed to be talking to him. He could not 
understand their sweet language, but he tried to 
imitate it upon a reed whistle. Failing in his at- 
tempt he seized the horn which was slung around 
his shoulders and blew a loud clear note as a chal- 
lenge to the dragon. At once a tremendous crash- 
ing sound was heard in a near-by thicket. 

“Ah! that must be the dragon!” said Siegfried, 
craning his neck without getting up. 

Again he heard the roar, followed by a terrible 
snorting and hissing and yawning, and out came 
a huge lizard-like serpent plunging through the un- 
derbrush toward him. 

“Who are you?” it growled. 

“Oh, you can talk, can you?” said Siegfried. “I 
am a man who has been sent to you to learn what 
fear is.” 


60 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“You will find out if you live long enough!” 
roared the dragon, showing its fangs and licking 
out a long forked tongue. “I will devour you in 
two mouthfuls.” 

“Oh, no!” laughed Siegfried. “I object. But 
if you do not teach me what fear is, it will be the 
worse for you!” 

This taunt angered the dragon, as Siegfried in- 
tended. It sprang forward, lashed about with its 
tail and poured forth flame and smoke from its 
nostrils. Siegfried leaped easily to one side and 
evaded both dangers. The dragon turned upon 
him at close range and struck again with its tail. 
Siegfried vaulted high in the air, so that the tail 
swept the ground smoothly under him without 
touching. Quick as a flash he smote the scaly back 
with his keen sword, so that the black blood poured 
forth in torrents. The dragon uttered loud bellows 
of rage and pain, and reared upon Siegfried with 
the forepart of its body in order to crush him; but 
as it reared, its breast was exposed, and Siegfried 
was swift to seize his advantage. With a powerful 
blow he drove the Sword of Need up to the hilt in 
the monster’s heart. 

“Woe is me!” gasped the dragon, rolling upon 
the earth in a dying condition. “Reckless youth, do 
you know what you have done?” 

“I know I have slain a foul beast because he 
would not teach me fear.” 



Then in the silence a bird sang to him 












































THE RING OF THE CURSE 


61 


“Ah, I perceive you are the tool of others,” said 
the dragon in a weak voice. “Know then that I am 
Fafner, the last of the giants’ race. I guarded the 
Rhine-Gold; but beware of it! a curse follows all 
who possess it! Beware!” 

Then with a dreadful groan the dragon expired. 

Siegfried drew his sword from its breast, and as 
he did so. a drop of blood fell upon his hand. It 
burned like a coal of fire, and instinctively he licked 
it with his tongue to stop the pain. Suddenly a 
strange new power came upon him. He new not 
what it was, but stood silent and amazed waiting 
to discover what it could be. Then in the silence a 
bird sang to him from a linden-tree — the same song 
he had heard before; but this time he could under- 
stand it ! It was as though the bird were speaking 
his own tongue ! 

“The Rhine-Gold is now yours,” it sang. “There 
in the cave you will find it. Be careful to take 
also the helmet of darkness and the Ring of 
Power.” 

Siegfried thanked the friendly bird, and hastened 
into the cave. While he was gone, Mime and Al- 
berich crept up and for the first time became aware 
of each other’s presence. A violent quarrel at once 
began as to*which should claim the treasure, but it 
was speedily silenced by the return of Siegfried 
clad in shining armour and bearing the helmet and 


62 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Ring. The two dwarfs slunk away again unper- 
ceived by the young man, who walked thoughtfully 
along listening to the wood-bird, which had recom- 
menced its song. And these were the words of the 
song: 

“Ha! Siegfried now holds 
Both the helmet and .the Ring; 

Beware of sly Mime — 

Trust him not in anything !” 

Siegfried again thanked the bird for its warning, 
which was indeed timely; for Mime now approached 
him with great pretended delight in his safety. 

“Have you learned what fear is?” he asked with 
a grin. 

“No, I have not,” answered Siegfried. 

“Then sit you down and rest, bravest of men!” 
said the dwarf. “And see, here is a cooling cup of 
mead I have brought for you. It will quiet you 
and cause you to forget your weariness.” 

“It is poison,” retorted the young man. “Thanks 
to the dragon’s blood, I can read all your wicked 
heart! Wretch, take your just deserts!” 

With that he dashed the poison cup to the ground, 
and stretched the dwarf, with one blow, dead at his 
feet. 

“It was his life or mine at the last,” he said, as 
he wended his way thoughtfully into the forest. 
In spite of his victory over the dragon, he was not 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


63 


elated. Instead, he was thinking how barren his 
life had been without friends or kindred, and how 
aimless it seemed even now, despite the Gold. 
Sighing heavily he sat down upon a log and buried 
his face in his hands. 

“Lonely, lonely! Of all men I am most lonelv!” 
he cried. 

“Would you find a love to comfort you?” sang 
the clear voice of the bird over his head. “I know 
where you might find the fairest lady in all the 
world. 

“On a lofty crag she sleeps, 

Her guard is a flaming fire; 

And he must bravely pierce the blaze 
Who would win his heart’s desire.” 

Siegfried sprang to his feet. “This quest is to 
my liking! Tell me more about it!” he exclaimed. 

“The bride to win, 

Brunhilde to wake, 

Is no coward’s task, 

Or whom fear doth shake.” 

Thus sang the wood-bird again, and Siegfried lis- 
tened to him joyfully. 

“Show me the way to the lofty crag, I pray you, 
good bird !” he exclaimed. “Show me the way, that 
I may greet the lady or look into the face of fear!” 

By way of answer the little bird fluttered away 


64 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


toward the heights leading up the mountain-side. 
Siegfried eagerly followed, over stones, through 
thickets, beneath huge trees, across dangerous 
chasms, but always being careful not to lose sight 
of the bird. 

At last they came to a wild rocky gorge, extend- 
ing to the last line of cliff s, and there the bird sud- 
denly disappeared. But Siegfried saw a narrow 
chasm like a giant’s pathway leading upward to the 
crest, and this, he decided, was the route he must 
follow. After a last look to see where the bird had 
gone, he prepared to ascend the path, when he came 
face to face with Wot an. 

Siegfried had never seen the god before, and now 
was in nowise dismayed, although the strange- 
looking figure in long cloak and broad hat was 
larger and more commanding than any he had ever 
met before this day. In Wotan’s hand was the 
Spear of Authority, with which he ruled the world. 

“Where are you going?” asked the god. 

“I know not,” replied Siegfried. “A little bird 
told me of a rock surrounded by fire, and a lovely 
maiden who sleeps there. But now the bird is gone, 
and I must find my way alone.” 

“Do you not fear the fire?” 

“Fear? That also have I come to seek. Know 
you the way?” 

“It lies up through yonder rift,” replied Wotan, 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


65 


wishing to test the young man’s bravery yet further; 
“but the journey is one of terror. Upon the moun- 
tain-top the flames leap fiercely. Sheets of fire 
driven before the wind rage on every side.” 

“The fiery foe I challenge!” answered Siegfried. 
“I must rescue Brunhilde at any cost.” And he 
strode toward the rocky chasm. 

“Back, rash youth!” commanded Wotan, stretch- 
ing out his Spear. “You shall not pass while this 
all-powerful weapon prevents!” 

“It shall not avail against this magic blade!” re- 
plied Siegfried, drawing the Sword of Need. 

Wotan started at sight of the fateful blade. 

“Where got you the weapon?” he asked. 

“At Mime’s forge I made it — the best metal in 
the world!” 

“But it shall not avail against the Spear, for by 
it was the Sword first broken,” answered Wotan. 

“Ah!” cried Siegfried, rushing forward. “Then 
you were my father’s foe! On guard, before my 
Sword brings vengeance upon you!” 

He swung the Sword with terrific force through 
the air. It met the Spear with a crash like thun- 
der, and the once powerful Spear was broken. The 
owner of the Ring was indeed master of the world! 

“Go forward!” said Wotan sadly. “No longer 
can I hold you. The doom of the gods was fore- 
told before you came into the world. You are but 
the instrument of fate.” 


66 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


And he disappeared. 

Siegfried glanced at the spot where he had stood, 
in astonishment. Then seeing no further bar to 
his progress, he ran lightly up the rough pathway. 
Presently he heard a dull roaring sound and saw, 
on the mountain height, a huge mass of flames 
which leaped in every direction and seemed to touch 
the very sky. Red and wrathful they shone, shut- 
ting off the pathway by what appeared to be a 
solid body of fire, while clouds of smoke hid the 
view on every side. 

But Siegfried pressed forward undaunted. Put- 
ting his hunting-horn to his lips he sounded a merry 
note as if in challenge. And as he went on, a won- 
derful thing happened. The fire parted slightly 
to right and left, letting him pass by unharmed. 
On he went until he came to the inner circle which 
the flame had guarded ; and now it vanished utterly, 
leaving the blue sky and the free air of heaven. 

On the moss-covered rock Siegfried saw some 
one lying asleep, beneath a heavy shield. He lifted 
this and beheld what appeared to be a youth clad 
in bright armour. The helmet hid the face, but 
when he carefully removed the heavy head-dress a 
mass of beautiful golden hair was loosened. The 
features were those of the lovely Brunhilde. 

“Ah! it is not a man!” exclaimed Siegfried, gaz- 
ing at the face in rapture. “It is the maid I have 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


67 


come to seek! How still she is! How can I 
waken her from this slumber?” 

He tried gently to rouse her by calling, but there 
was no response. Only her deep breathing told 
him that she was alive. 

“ ’Tis the fairest vision I could ever have dreamed 
of seeing!” he murmured; “the one maid I could 
worship and serve! Now I cannot waken her, and 
all my past hardships have been in vain.” 

He knelt down and gazed long and rapturously 
into her face. Then unable to restrain his emo- 
tions any longer he bent and pressed his lips full 
and fervently upon hers. 

Instantly the maid awoke. While Siegfried 
started back in rapture she sat up as easily as 
though yesterday had witnessed the beginning of 
her long sleep. She gazed about her in delight, 
and burst forth into a little cry of gladness: 

“Hail to thee, Sun, 

Hail to thee, Light, 

Hail, thou luminous Day! 

Deep was my sleep, 

Long was the night !” 

Then looking about she asked, “Who is the hero 
that has come to waken me?” 

“I am Siegfried,” he replied modestly. 

“Siegfried, son of Sieglinde?” she cried. “Then 
I knew your mother in those past years before I fell 
asleep!” 


68 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Oh, tell me of her and of my father !” he ex- 
claimed, his eyes shining. “But, I am not thought- 
ful,” he added in another tone. “You are in need 
of refreshment after your long slumber.” 

“I am a daughter of the gods,” she answered, 
“and feel no faintness or weariness as mortals do.” 

Siegfried, who had come near to her, drew back 
as though struck by a blow. 

“A daughter of the gods!” he exclaimed. “I — 
I hoped to claim you for my bride!” 

In his ingenuous youth, his inner thoughts rose 
naturally to his lips. 

Brunhilde smiled sadly and shook her head. 

“See yonder horse, which also has been asleep?” 
she asked. “It is Grani, my winged steed, upon 
which I used to ride through the clouds with my 
sisters. Would you bid me stay upon earth?” 

“Ah, Brunhilde, my love is selfish, I know! But 
if your heart could feel half the fire that burns in 
mine, you would gladly stay upon earth like other 
women!” 

“Like other women!” the words brought back the 
decree of Wotan in a flash, and Brunhilde sat as 
though stunned. Then she looked proudly at the 
fearless hero with his frank face and deep blue eyes; 
and as she looked the love-light shining in his face 
was lit upon her own. 

Siegfried knelt and pressed his bps to her hands, 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


69 


with bowed head. He dared not look again for 
very joy, and afraid lest the light he had seen should 
be vanished. 

“Brunhilde! Brunhilde!” he whispered. “Can it 
be true?” 

For answer Brunhilde clasped her arms around 
his neck and looked up laughingly into the sky. 
And again she sang — this time a note of glad re- 
nunciation. The proud War Maiden, the daugh- 
ter of the gods, had found a joy in the mortal life 
of a loving woman, such as she had never dreamed. 

“Away, Walhalla! 

Glorious world! 

Farewell thou gorgeous 
Realm of the gods ! 

End in delight 

0 lofty race! 

Night of destruction 
Thy terrors are gone; 

1 stand in the glow 
Of Siegfried's star!” 

Then Siegfried in his turn sang of love and Brun- 
hilde. And the two sweet voices blended together 
at the last in a triumphant strain, 

“My own for ever, 

And parting never, 

For aye and ever. 

Shining in Love! 

And smiling at Death !” 


PART IV 

THE DOWNFALL OF THE GODS 

W HEN Brunhilde promised to become Sieg- 
fried’s wife she well knew what it would 
cost her. She would no longer be of the 
family of the gods, nor would she have strength and 
wisdom beyond other mortal women. Yet she now 
had no regrets. Her love for her hero eclipsed 
every other thing, and she knew only that she was 
entirely happy in the present. 

Long the lovers sat and talked, forgetful of all 
the outside world. Siegfried told Brunhilde of his 
adventures; his fight with the dragon; his posses- 
sion of the Ring; and finally his encounter with the 
mysterious stranger whose spear he had shattered. 

Brunhilde started up at this. She had recog- 
nised Wotan at once from the description. 

“The spear was broken , you say?” she exclaimed 
questioningly. “Are you sure it was broken?” 

“It fell shivered upon the ground beneath my 
sword.” 

“What did the stranger do?” 

“He looked sadly at me, saying that he was pow- 

70 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


71 


erless to hinder me further. Then he vanished sud- 
denly.” 

“Ah, woe to the gods!” cried the maiden. 
“Their doom is indeed coming upon them! Sieg- 
fried, the spear you broke was the dread Spear of 
Authority with which great Wotan ruled the world. 
Now, all the old order of things shall pass away. 
Walhalla itself must fall, because of the curse of 
the Ring.” 

“The curse of the Ring?” asked Siegfried in an 
astonished voice. “What is that?” 

“It is the sad fate which has followed upon the 
heels of a bad deed,” she answered. “King Wotan 
himself told me the tale upon that day so long ago 
when I disobeyed him.” She shuddered slightly at 
the memory, then went on: “It is bound up in 
your own fate, so I will tell you also the story.” 

Then Siegfried listened with wide-open eyes 
while Brunhilde told him of the lost Rhine-Gold; 
the building of Walhalla; the reward of the giants; 
and the curse of the Ring. His breath was bated 
and his eyes were very moist when she told further 
of Siegmund and Sieglinde and the wrath of Wo- 
tan. 

“Then you were the protector of my father and 
mother!” he said, embracing her joyfully. “Ah, 
how much love and devotion do I owe you, fairest 
and dearest of goddess-maidens!” 


72 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Will you never forget me?” she asked. 

By way of reply he drew the magic Ring from 
his finger and placed it upon hers. 

“Let this be our troth,” he said. “From this 
moment it becomes a blessing instead of a curse, 
and our lives shall be one life for evermore.” 

“It shall tell me always of you,” answered Brun- 
hilde. “For I know you cannot linger here, dearly 
as I should desire it. You come of a race of heroes, 
and great deeds await you upon earth. Your 
sword must not grow rusty in idleness, nor your 
strength weak through ease.” 

“’Tis true,” he said, with a sad but resolute look 
in his blue eyes, as he glanced far over the nestling 
valleys. “’Tis true that my lifework is yet to be 
begun. But, alas ! . Brunhilde, how can I leave 
you? You are the only person I have ever known 
that gave me sympathy or love.” 

Brunhilde pressed his hands tenderly. 

“My sympathy and love shall always be for 
you!” she whispered; “and here shall I wait your 
return to me. Loki will build his barrier of fire 
about me once more, and only you, the hero who 
knows no fear, can find your way back again. 

“And now take with you Grani, my good horse. 
He can no longer fly through the clouds as for- 
merly, when his mistress was one of the immortals. 
But he will go through fire and water for you, and 
will be your devoted slave.” 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


73 


The maiden called the beautiful horse, which had 
been aroused out of sleep at the same time she was 
awakened, and which was now grazing near by. 
Grani came to them whinnying gently. Siegfried 
patted the steed’s soft nose, then took the bridle 
slowly, as if unwilling to speak. He girded on his 
sword, placed his helmet firmly upon his head, and 
slung his bugle around his shoulders. 

“Farewell, beloved!” said Brunhilde softly. 

“Farewell, beloved!” he answered. “My hunt- 
ing-horn shall tell you from the valley all that I 
cannot say.” 

One lingering embrace, and he turned and led 
his steed down the steep path. Brunhilde watched 
his descent with shining eyes. Presently from the 
valley below she heard the mellow notes of the horn 
sweet and clear. Then the faint gallop of hoofs 
told her that Siegfried had gone forth into the world 
to play the part Fate gave him. 

Several days passed by. Grani steadily and 
swiftly bore his rider over mountains, through val- 
leys, and across rivers with untiring zeal. It was 
not until they reached the noble river Rhine that 
Siegfried drew rein. Upon the crest of a hill, 
across the stream from where they stood, rose a 
splendid castle. It seemed to belong to the king 
of the country, for it was very large, and a pennant 


74 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


floated from an upper turret. The current of the 
river was deep and swift at this point, but a small 
boat was moored not far from Siegfried. 

“Come, Grani!” he said, dismounting; “I will 
take the boat, while you swim beside me across the 
stream. This promises an adventure!” 

Grani obeyed, and they were soon in the channel, 
heading toward the castle. 

Now this castle was the seat of a king of an an- 
cient and warlike tribe. His name was Gunther, 
and he tried to deal fairly with every man. He had 
a beautiful sister Gudrun; and, also, a half-brother 
named Hagen, a sly fellow who was always plot- 
ting mischief. Hagen, in fact, was the evil genius 
of the castle. You will not wonder at this when 
I tell you that he was of kin to the Nibelungs, 
Alberich and Mime. 

Like all of dwarf blood, Hagen had a passion for 
gold, and was also adept at discovering secrets. 
He knew of the stolen Rhine-Gold ; and he had also 
learned — perhaps through Alberich — of Siegfried’s 
quest of Brunhilde. Thereupon he began to plot, 
and he told King Gunther just enough of his plot- 
ting to get the monarch’s interest aroused. 

On this very day when Siegfried had started 
across the river toward the castle, Hagen had been 
telling the King that he ought to find a queen. 
And then he told of the beauty of Brunhilde, and 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


75 


how she slept upon a lofty cliff surrounded by a 
barrier of fire. 

“None but the bravest of heroes can rescue her,” 
Hagen continued. “But there is one who is even 
now upon this quest. He is called the bravest of 
the brave, and his name is Siegfried.” 

Then turning to the Princess Gudrun, he added 
slyly, “Perchance Siegfried is the hero you have 
been awaiting, O Princess ! He is handsome as he 
is brave.” 

Now Gunther liked not the idea of another man 
being braver than he. But he only said, “I should 
like much to see the fair Brunhilde; but if I could 
not pierce the flame, how could I persuade Sieg- 
fried to do so in my stead, seeing this is his own 
quest?” 

“Leave that to me,” laughed Hagen. “I would 
brew him a drink that would make him forget all 
his past — his plans and wishes — and he would love 
the first lady his eyes fell upon.” 

He looked again slyly at Gudrun, who blushed 
red, but wished within her heart that she could see 
this Siegfried. Her wish was soon to be gratified, 
for just as Hagen finished speaking they heard the 
sound of a horn, out on the river, blown in chal- 
lenge. 

“Who dares challenge Gunther in his own cas- 
tle?” exclaimed the King, starting up. 


76 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Hagen hurried to the battlements. 

“I see a knight clad in glittering gold armour,” 
he said. “ He is in a boat alone; and by the boat 
swims a horse. With your favour I will meet him 
at the landing.” And Hagen seized sword and 
helmet and hastened out. 

King Gunther followed him, his curiosity being 
aroused by the challenge and Hagen’s description. 
Together in silence they awaited the coming of the 
boat which made swift progress against the current, 
driven by Siegfried’s muscular arms. Soon it 
touched the bank, and the young man sprang out. 
Drawing his sword he saluted the two and then 
placed himself on guard. 

“I am Siegfried,” he said simply, “and if any 
man gainsay my landing on these shores, I am 
ready to meet him in honourable combat!” 

“Not so!” said Gunther, stretching out his hand 
cordially. “If your name be Siegfried, then am I 
right glad to welcome you ! Much have I heard of 
your prowess, and more would I fain hear while 
you rest yourself at my board. I am Gunther.” 

Siegfried looked him frankly in the eye, then 
gripped his hand. Hagen also exchanged greet- 
ings with him and led Grani away to the stables. 
Hagen was overjoyed at the turn affairs had taken. 
With his swift cunning he lost no time in putting 
his own schemes into play; and before he joined the 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


77 


King and his guest he found time to brew the drink 
of forgetfulness, about which he had told the King 
only a few minutes previously. 

Returning to the hall, Hagen found the King 
and his guest breaking bread together and chatting 
in a friendly way. Gunther with true hospitality 
had thrown open his home and realm to the hero. 
Siegfried on his part offered to serve the King with 
his sword and steed when any need should arise. 

“But how did you know of me, or even that I 
am Siegfried?” he asked bluntly. 

“We have already heard great things of your 
prowess,” replied Hagen, joining in the talk; “and 
the magic helmet would betray you, else.” 

“The magic helmet?” repeated the young man. 

“Yes, the cap of darkness you have at your belt. 
Have you never tried its wonderful properties? By 
its aid you can assume any shape you choose.” 

Siegfried had never heard of the helmet’s power 
before. He did not attempt to conceal his surprise, 
but said nothing. 

Just then the beautiful Princess Gudrun entered 
the room. She bore a golden salver, upon which 
stood a goblet. She had already beheld the hero 
secretly, and now willingly brought him the fatal 
cup of forgetfulness which Hagen had made. 

“Welcome to the palace of King Gunther!” she 
said with downcast eyes. “Will my lord Siegfried 
drink a refreshing brew?” 


78 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Siegfried thanked her courteously and placed the 
goblet to his lips. Rut though he bowed to her 
and the King, the toast which he whispered to him- 
self was, ‘‘To the health of my Brunhilde! May 
her memory never grow dim!” 

But alas ! no sooner had he swallowed the potion 
than all his past life was blotted out! He seemed 
like one awakened from a heavy slumber, for he 
rubbed his eyes and glanced wildly about him. 

“Where am I?” he asked, leaning upon a chair 
for support. “What has happened?” 

Then his glance fell upon Gudrun who stood 
silent and ashamed of what she had done. As he 
looked, a flame of love was kindled in his heart for 
her, by the power of the magic draught. 

“Who is this fair creature?” he asked, turning 
to the King. “Is she your wife?” 

“She is my sister,” answered Gunther. “I have 
no wife.” 

“It is not well for man to live alone ; and all the 
more if he be king.” 

“That is what my brother Hagen has told me. 
But the one woman I could wish to win, methinks, 
is not attainable.” 

“How so?” asked Siegfried. 

“She is hedged about by a barrier of fire.” 

“A barrier of fire?” said Siegfried slowly, and 
rubbing his eyes again. “A barrier of fire?” 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


79 


“She can only be reached by one who is brave 
enough to force his way through the flame,” con- 
tinued Gunther; “by one who knows no fear.” 

“One who knows no fear?” again repeated Sieg- 
fried. “I knew such a man once.” But he shook 
his head sadly and gave up trying to think. 

“Yes,” added the King, “he who knows no fear 
can alone win Brunhilde for his bride.” 

Siegfried made no immediate reply. The potion 
had done its full work, and he had utterly forgot- 
ten Brunhilde. Presently he said: 

“I know not the maid of whom you speak. But 
methinks she could not be as fair as your sweet 
sister.” 

Gudrun ran hastily from the room at this. 

“I would be willing to go far to win her favour,” 
he continued with the frankness of youth. 

“Would you be willing to aid King Gunther’s 
wooing?” asked Hagen. 

“Right gladly,” answered Siegfried. “But 
how?” 

“Your magic helmet would give you his appear- 
ance,” replied Hagen; “that is, if you would dare 
face the barrier of fire.” 

Siegfried’s eyes flashed. “Dare? I dare any- 
thing, if only King Gunther and his fair sister give 
me their regard!” 

The King sprang to his feet quickly. 


80 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Spoken like a man and a brother!” he exclaimed. 
“Upon my soul, I love you! And if you will obtain 
Brunhilde for me, I shall undertake to win Gudrun 
for you.” 

“Done!” said Siegfried, grasping his hand. “I 
shall go with you when you wish.” 

Then the King ordered wine to be poured. 

“Come, drink a pledge with me!” he said. 
“From this day we are brothers. And on the mor- 
row we will set forth.” 

Together they drank the pledge and vowed vows 
of eternal friendship. 

Meanwhile Brunhilde had grown very lonely. 
Although she had urged Siegfried to go out into the 
world and win greater fame, her heart still cried 
for him, and she wondered, as the days crept by, 
when he would return. She no longer thought of 
Walhalla, or the War Maidens. Her whole 
thought was of Siegfried the fearless. 

One day as she sat and brooded, she heard the 
long-silent cry of the War Maidens, “Hoyo-to-ho !” 
and looked up in astonishment to see one of her 
sisters come flying on her steed through the clouds. 
The next instant the two maidens were sobbing 
upon each other’s necks in the joy of reunion. 

“How came you to brave Wotan’s displeasure?” 
exclaimed Brunhilde. “Do you not know that I 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


81 


am cut off from you, and that you incur a great 
danger in coming thus to me?” 

“Wotan no longer cares,” answered her sister. 
“Since his Spear of Authority was broken he sits 
in Walhalla with moody brow. And, O my sister! 
that is why I have come to you! I heard him say 
that if you but gave up the Ring of the Rhine- 
maidens, of your own accord, the curse would be 
removed, and the home of the gods saved.” 

“But I cannot give it up!” exclaimed Brunhilde, 
wildly pressing the Ring to her heart. “It is my 
betrothal ring from Siegfried, and I have promised 
to guard it always!” 

“That is the only way Walhalla can be saved! 
Surely you can do that little thing!” her sister en- 
treated. 

“What care I for Walhalla?” said Brunhilde, 
stormily. “I have so long been denied its halls 
that I have ceased to care. The love of Siegfried 
is the dearest thing I have in the world. Wotan 
cannot take that away from me. Go back and tell 
him so!” 

“Then woe must come upon us all!” cried her sis- 
ter; and seeing further entreaty was useless, she 
sprang hastily upon her steed and rode away. 

Brunhilde made no effort to stay her, but fell 
again into brooding silence. Presently, however, 
she heard the sound of a horn and sprang eagerly 


82 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


to her feet. It was Siegfried’s horn and he was 
returning! She rushed to the edge of the rock. 
The flames which had been burning fiercely parted 
to right and left, as once before, and the form of 
a man appeared. It was indeed Siegfried, but she 
did not recognise him. He had put the magic hel- 
met upon his head and taken the form of Gunther. 
With Gunther’s voice he also spoke to her. 

In a tremble she asked, “Who has dared come 
where only the fearless hero finds a way?” 

“I am Gunther the King,” he answered, “and 
have come to claim you as my bride.” 

“That cannot be,” she answered. “I am Sieg- 
fried’s promised wife.” 

“Siegfried? You are mad! He is promised to 
another. Come with me.” 

“Away! It is not true!” she cried. “This is 
his Ring, and in its name I tell you to begone!” 

She waved it threateningly, but he stepped for- 
ward. 

“If that is his Ring, I must take it,” he said. 
And before she could avoid him he seized her hand 
and removed the golden hoop from her finger. 

“Come with me!” he commanded. “In the name 
of this bauble, I tell you to obey.” 

He had said the words in imitation of her man- 
ner, and not at all expecting her to yield so easily, 
for the power of the Ring also had gone from his 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


83 


memory. But what was his amazement to see her 
come forward meekly and prepare to go with him. 
Only as she left the rock, she turned her eyes toward 
the sky, and moaned. 

“Ah, Wotan! I see thy hand in this! Forgive 
me for having defied thee!” 

Siegfried could make nothing of this outcry; but 
delighted that he should succeed in his wooing for 
Gunther so easily, he led her down the mountain- 
side and bade her rest a moment by a fountain. 
She did so, when he went swiftly around a rock and 
disappeared. The real Gunther who had awaited 
him there now came forward in his stead with horses 
and bade Brunhilde mount. She sadly obeyed and 
rode with him toward his castle, while Siegfried 
dashed swiftly ahead to greet Gudrun and await 
their coming. 

Hagen, meanwhile, had not been idle at the pal- 
ace. He had seen Alberich and they had plotted 
together as to the best means to seize the Ring, 
no matter who should return wearing it. Hagen 
had also talked with Gudrun and easily persuaded 
her to accept Siegfried without delay upon his re- 
turn. 

Siegfried, therefore, found a pleasing welcome 
when he presently arrived; and he had exchanged 
vows with the Princess before the horns announced 
that the King was returning with his bride. 


84 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Siegfried and Gudrun with Hagen met the royal 
party at the landing. 

“Welcome home, brother!” said Siegfried. “I 
am overjoyed to see that you have been as success- 
ful in your suit as I have been in mine.” 

Gudrun also had kissed her brother. Brunhilde, 
however, at sight of Siegfried started back. 

“Siegfried! You here? Is it true then that you 
are plighted to another?” 

“I am plighted to Gudrun,” he answered calmly. 

Brunhilde felt a deathly faintness come over her 
and came near falling to the ground. Siegfried 
sprang forward and supported her. 

“Ah, Siegfried beloved! do you not remember 
me?” she asked faintly. 

The voice stirred strange chords within him, but 
he did not understand them. He quietly seated 
her, then turning, said, “Gunther, your bride is ill.” 
And as the King approached, he added to her, 
“You have been faint. See, here comes your hus- 
band.” 

As he pointed to the King, Brunhilde saw the 
fatal Ring gleaming upon Siegfried’s finger. 

“Ha! the Ring!” she cried. “Siegfried’s Ring! 
My Ring! Where got you it, if you are not my 
hero himself?” 

“She is excited and overcome by her journey,” 
said Siegfried to the others. Then as if talking to 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


85 


himself he went on, “This Ring? Where did I get 
it, I wonder? It seems to me that some time, 
somewhere — I forget just where — I fought a 
dragon and wrested the Ring from him.” 

Siegfried knitted his brow and strove to recall 
the past. Hagen stepped quickly forward. 

“This excitement is proving too much for both 
our brides and bridegrooms,” he said gaily. “Come, 
let us within where a feast is spread in honour of 
the great day.” 

The King was swift to see his suggestion. 

“Yes, order the trumpets to blow!” he ordered. 
“We will rest from our journey and have public 
feastings.” 

The party entered the castle, Brunhilde with the 
rest. She had looked once again beseechingly at 
Siegfried, but all his attention was bestowed upon 
Gudrun. At last the proud spirit of Brunhilde 
flashed up at what she deemed an insult. She, a 
daughter of the gods, to be wooed and then for- 
saken! She vowed revenge upon Siegfried for his 
rudeness. 

However, she gave no sign of all this. She 
joined the feast, and sat smilingly at Gunther’s 
side. She became his wife, while still her heart 
cried out for her hero, and cried in no less measure 
for revenge! 

Hagen alone knew of the struggle that was going 


86 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


on in Brunhilde’s mind. He watched anxiously 
her every action; and now that he saw her smile 
and accept King Gunther before them all, he 
rubbed his hands in glee, under the banquet board. 
He saw that his evil schemes were succeeding just 
as he had planned. 

And so, after the feast was ended, while all was 
laughter and music within the hall, Hagen came up 
and talked to Brunhilde. At first it was only idle 
talk and hidden flattery; then he touched upon 
Siegfried. 

“Speak not to me of him,” said Brunhilde coldly. 

“Why not?” asked Hagen in feigned surprise. 
“He is said to be the bravest hero in the world.” 

“He may be brave, but I care not to talk of him. 
He is the falsest man alive.” 

Some rash impulse made her say these words, 
and she regretted them as soon as spoken. But 
Hagen was quick to follow them up. 

“You amaze and alarm me!” he said. “I had 
supposed him to be honourable. If he is false he 
is a menace to our kingdom, and I for one would 
wish that he were out of it.” 

“It would indeed be better if he were gone,” said 
Brunhilde, her pride still making her utter rash 
things. 

“I am glad you have advised me of his true char- 
acter,” said Hagen craftily. “The King purposes 


THE RING OF THE CURSE 


87 


to give a hunting party to-morrow. Now if Sieg- 
fried should not return from it, do you think it 
would be better so?” 

“Yes,” said Brunhilde indifferently, and turned 
to speak to the King. 

But if she gave no more thought to these fate- 
ful words, Hagen fairly hugged them in his heart. 
He saw in them a license to do evil to Siegfried. 

The next day, as he had said, the King gave a 
hunting party in honour of the two brides. All 
were to meet at noonday for a repast in a grove, 
but were at liberty to follow, that morning, 
wherever the chase might lead. 

Siegfried’s horse Grani soon outdistanced all the 
others and led him into a deep wood. There he 
started a bear, but after pursuing it for some time 
it disappeared, and Siegfried found himself upon 
a wild part of the banks of the Rhine. Being 
thirsty and weary he dismounted, drank at the 
river’s brink and threw himself down upon a mossy 
knoll. 

Just then he heard the sound of singing — a 
melodious but unearthly strain ending almost in 
a wail. Looking around, he saw three river nymphs 
rise out of the water and swim toward him. They 
were the Rhine-maidens, but Siegfried had never 
seen them before. However, he was undaunted at 
the vision, and sought to make a jest at their ex- 
pense. 


88 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Hail, fair maidens!’’ he exclaimed. “Some elf 
has led me astray, so I desire your aid. This elf 
was in the shape of a bear, and if he was not a friend 
of yours, I wish you would help me find him.” 

“What will you give us if we help you?” they 
asked. 

“I have nothing to give until I catch him,” re- 
plied Siegfried, laughing. “What do you de- 
sire?” 

One of the maidens swam to him with out- 
stretched hand. 

“A golden Ring enwraps your finger,” she said. 
“Give us the Ring and we will help you find the 
bear.” 

“I think I slew a huge dragon to win this Ring,” 
replied Siegfried lightly. “That would be a sorry 
trade for me to barter it for a bear.” 

“You are selfish,” the maidens sang teasingly. 
“Be wise and give us the Ring!” 

They dived in and out of the water and Siegfried 
laughed to watch them, secretly resolving to throw 
them the Ring before he left them, for it had no 
present value in his eyes. But soon the three 
maidens swam close to the shore and lifted up their 
arms warningly. 

“Beware, Siegfried!” they exclaimed. “The 
Ring has a curse upon it! Better give it to us!” 

“A curse?” he asked. “That makes it interest- 
ing! I must hear about this curse.” 



The three maidens swam close to the shore 












THE RING OF THE CURSE 


89 


Then the Rhine-maidens sang, 

“Siegfried ! Siegfried ! Siegfried ! 

Sorrow dire we foresee: 

If thou wardest the Ring, 

A curse it will be. 

From the Gold of the Rhine 
It was craftily wrought, 

Then cursed by the dwarf 
When its magic he sought 
Whoever shall own it 
Is fated to fall; 

The dragon thou slewest 
• Was but one among all. 

To-day thou art stricken — 

Thy doom we divine — 

Unless thou returnest 
The Ring to the Rhine!’* 

Siegfried heard the song through, then placed 
the Ring tightly on his finger. 

“Ah, ye are trying to frighten me into giving up 
the trinket !” he said. “But ye have sung your 
song to the wrong ears. I know not what fear is 
and have been hunting.it all my life.” 

“Beware, Siegfried!” the maidens cried entreat- 
ingly, sinking once more into the water’s depths. 

“Farewell!” he called after them laughingly. “I 
must hasten to join the hunt.” 

The sound of a far-away horn was now heard, 
and he answered it with his bugle, then hastily 


90 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


mounted Grani and rode away. Thanks to his 
swift steed he soon reached the spot agreed upon 
for the noontide repast. He greeted the two ladies, 
the King, Hagen and the retainers, and seated him- 
self between Hagen and Gudrun. Brunhilde sat 
directly opposite, by the King’s side. 

As Siegfried had brought no game to the feast, 
it was jestingly decreed that he should entertain 
the company by telling some of his past adventures. 
Hagen passed goblets of wine to each one present, 
and took the opportunity to pour into Siegfried’s 
cup a few drops of a potion which caused him to re- 
member again some of his past. 

So Siegfried began to tell of his early life in the 
forest with Mime; of how he harnessed the bear to 
frighten the dwarf; of his Sword of Need and the 
fight with the dragon. 

The company applauded his story and begged 
him to go on. He gladly did so, for it now seemed 
new and strange to him also ; or as if it had been a 
dream. Hagen poured more of the potion into 
his goblet. 

“After I slew the dragon,” continued Siegfried, 
“a strange thing happened. I chanced to get a 
drop of its blood upon my tongue, when I heard a 
bird singing to me and I understood all it said. It 
told me of this magic Ring I have on my finger and 
of the Rhine-Gold in a cave. It also told me of a 



The death of Siegfried 















1 








































THE RING OF THE CURSE 


91 


maiden on a mountain height surrounded by a bar- 
rier of fire. Her name was — Brunhilde!” 

He sprang to his feet, rubbed his eyes, and 
looked across the table. 

“Her name was Brunhilde!” he exclaimed again; 
and then he stretched out his arms. 

“Brunhilde, it was you , oh, my beloved! Where 
have you been so long?” 

Brunhilde rose hastily as if to reply; but before 
she could utter a word Siegfried fell backward. 
Hagen had struck him treacherously from behind 
with his spear. 

“What have you done?” shouted the King, while 
Gudrun leaned her head swooningly upon her 
knees. 

“I have slain a traitor!” boldly replied Hagen. 
“Did you not hear him admit that he had sought 
Brunhilde before he was wed with the Princess 
Gudrun? And Brunhilde herself ordered his 
death.” 

“No, no!” shrieked Brunhilde, rushing to her 
dying hero’s side. “Ah, beloved, I see it all now! 
The curse of the Ring was upon us and you knew 
not what you did!” 

She lifted his head upon her lap and tried to pour 
wine down his throat. His eyes, which were al- 
ready fast glazing, opened again at the touch of her 
hand. 


92 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Brunhilde!” he whispered. “Where have you 
been? I — have — sought you — ” 

“Siegfried! Siegfried! forgive me! It has all 
been a cruel mistake! Do not die! Ah, beloved, 
look at me with your dear eyes again! Your kiss 
awakened me from a slumber of years. See, I kiss 
you and love you. Why do you not awaken as I 
did? Do not go away and leave me again! I shall 
not let you go!” 

She pressed her bps wildly upon his, and the kiss 
stayed his soul yet a moment more. 

“Brunhilde — mother — we will — not — part — ” 

The hero who knew no fear had ended his brief 
earth battle. 

Brunhilde wept bitterly in the first outburst of 
grief. Then summoning all her pride and resolu- 
tion, she rose and confronted Hagen. 

“This is your evil deed!” she said. “You shall 
not fasten thoughtless words of mine upon it. 
There has been conspiracy here, and I fear that ye 
all are in it.” 

“There has indeed been conspiracy,” the King 
answered sadly; “but Hagen alone is the doer of 
this deed, and for it he shall answer. Our con- 
spiracy lay only in giving Siegfried a drink of for- 
getfulness. We did not know he had become 
plighted to you; and he himself was made to forget 



The funeral of Siegfried 











































































THE RING OF THE CURSE 


93 


it by the potion. He served us in all innocence.” 

Brunhilde looked at Hagen, Gunther, and Gud- 
run scornfully ; then turned to the retainers. 

“Take up the body of Siegfried,” she com- 
manded, “and bear it to the river’s brink. There 
we will burn it upon a funeral pyre, and there will 
I consign this Ring of the curse back to the Rhine- 
maidens.” 

They placed Siegfried upon his shield and laid 
the Sword of Need across his breast. Then they 
bore him as she had commanded to the bank of the 
river. At sunset a great funeral pyre had been 
erected, and the body was laid upon it. A torch 
was applied and as the heap burst into flame, Brun- 
hilde called her steed Grani and mounted him. 

“Hoyo-to-ho!” she cried, giving for the last time 
the call of the War Maidens. “Siegfried, beloved, 
I come to thee!” 

And straight into the fire she rode, and the flames 
leaping high hid her and her steed from view. But 
out of the midst of the pyre her voice called to the 
Rhine-maidens. 

“Behold the Ring; the Ring of the curse! Come, 
seize it, and may gods and men be relieved of its 
ban!” 

At her cry a wondrous thing was seen by the 
watchers round about the pyre. A great wave rose 
out of the bed of the river, and on its crest the three 


94 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Rhine-maidens appeared. Up over the bank 
rushed the wave, quenching the fire as it came and 
sweeping all before it into the water’s depths. 

Suddenly Hagen gave a fearful cry. He beheld 
the Ring again being swept from beyond his grasp, 
and he plunged into the current and attempted to 
take it from one of the maidens who held it ex- 
ultingly aloft. But the other two twined their 
arms about him and dragged him down with them. 
When the wave had subsided he was no longer to 
be seen; nor was there any vestige of the funeral 
pyre or Brunhilde. The curse of the Ring was 
wiped away. 

Just then a reddish glow was seen in the sky. 
Swiftly it grew and spread like the light of many 
auroras. In speechless amazement the onlookers 
beheld this awe-inspiring sight. The doom of the 
gods had come with the recovery of the Ring. Wal- 
halla was being destroyed. Wotan’s kingdom was 
at an end. Henceforth the world was to press for- 
ward to new and better things. 


Parsifal the Pure 

(. Parsifal ) 

Y OU have just read of the downfall of the 
gods through broken promises, and of a 
great hero of those early days who fell a 
victim to fate. And now you may like to hear of 
another hero who was even greater, for he was su- 
perior to every enemy and every temptation to the 
end. The old order of things had long since passed 
away. The gods were indeed dead, and men be- 
lieved instead in one true God and in His beloved 
Son. A beautiful legend had grown out of the 
last days of the Christ upon earth ; and this legend 
is the golden thread upon which is hung our present 
story. 

You remember that in the Bible account of the 
Last Supper, Christ took a cup and blessed the 
wine in it and gave it to His disciples to drink. 

“ Galahad, as Tennyson portrays him, will always hold the first 
place with English readers as the ideal Knight of the Holy Grail. 
The matchless diction of Tennyson has given the less perfect form of 
the legend a supreme charm and beauty. But Wolfram von Eschen- 
bach’s Parsifal, as spiritualised and humanised in Wagner’s lyric 
drama, will be seen to be in fuller accord with the whole cycle and 
development of the Grail legends, and at the same time gives the 
nobler story.” — Oliver Huckel. 


95 


96 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


The legend goes on to relate that Joseph of Arima- 
thea, the man who provided a tomb for Christ, 
obtained the blessed cup of the sacrament, and that 
at the crucifixion he caught in it a few drops of 
blood from Christ’s bleeding side. 

Henceforth the Cup possessed the magical power 
of healing all wounds and sicknesses. It brought 
perfect peace to its possessor; and the mere sight 
of it was esteemed the greatest privilege on earth. 
But it was rarely seen of men. Spirited away by 
divine power, the Holy Grail — as it was called — 
was shown only on rare occasions and to the noblest 
and most self-sacrificing among its seekers. And 
so its quest came to be the highest task a man could 
set himself, for it meant the conquering of his own 
baser nature first of all, and the putting aside of 
every selfish interest. 

You may have read the fine old story of the quest 
of King Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table 
for this Holy Grail, and how it made them all 
nobler and better, although the inspiring vision was 
granted only to two or three. At that time it had 
no fixed place, and men did not know where or how 
to seek it. So it is no wonder that so few ever suc- 
ceeded in the quest. 

Finally in another land a brave knight, Titurel 
by name, decided to devote his whole life to seeking 
the sacred Cup. Taking with him his son, and a 


PARSIFAL THE PURE 


97 


small but chosen body of knights, he set forth trust- 
ing to the mercy of Heaven to favour his search. 
Many days he led his little band across deserts, 
through valleys, and over stony mountain-sides. 
And as they went they aided every person who 
crossed their path; they forsook all worldly pride; 
and they spoke only in kindness and humility of 
spirit. Night and morning, also, they prayed that 
they might be led to the Holy Grail. 

On and on they went, dusty and travel-worn and 
weary, but with the same brave hearts. Late one 
evening they stopped for the night in the shelter 
of a dense forest. They had travelled all day and 
had eaten little, but after resting a brief while some- 
thing seemed to urge them forward. 

“Rise, my brave knights,” said Titurel, standing 
stiffly upon his feet. “Rise, and let us go still 
farther into this wood. I feel that it is the divine 
will.” 

Without murmuring they once more resumed 
their march, and, wonderful to relate, the farther 
they went the less tired they grew. A strange feel- 
ing of rest and content came over them until in a 
great wave of joy they all fell upon their knees 
and gave thanks. They felt that at last they were 
nearing the Holy Grail. 

As they knelt a great light, like noonday, shone 
round about them, and a voice said: 


98 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Arise, ye blessed among mankind! For your 
labours are rewarded and it is given to you to guard 
the Holy Grail. Near unto you is a mountain 
which shall be called Mount Salvat, and thereupon 
must ye build a temple. And ye shall be called 
the Knights of the Holy Grail.” 

The voice ceased. The knights fell upon their 
faces in prayer and thanksgiving. When they 
arose the light had disappeared, but in each face 
was reflected a lofty purpose born of its glory. 

The next morning they went their way to Mount 
Salvat and there built the temple. High were its 
walls, with lofty arches and beautiful windows, and 
its fame as the most imposing temple in all the 
world soon went abroad. And when it was fin- 
ished and they held the solemn service of dedica- 
tion, a light came and glowed steadily in the crypt. 
While all the knights fell upon their knees, Titurel 
drew near and lifted a veil. There in all its beauty 
shone the Holy Grail! 

Then Titurel and the knights were filled with 
great joy, and they vowed eternal service to the 
sacred charge. They became, indeed, a sort of 
priesthood and forsook all other aims or desires. 
Daily they worshipped in the temple, and were fed 
from the holy altar. And if any among them be- 
came wounded or ill, the mystic fire which glowed 
about the Cup speedily restored them to health. 


PARSIFAL THE PURE 


99 


For many years they kept their charge wi,th 
zealous faith. Titurel their head became an old 
man, and Amfortas his son was appointed chief 
guardian of the Grail in his stead. 

Meanwhile, as you may suppose, many other 
knights were desirous of being admitted into the 
temple; but none save those who led pure and sin- 
cere lives were ever accepted. Among those who 
were rejected because they were unworthy was a 
powerful magician named Klingsor. When he 
failed to win entrance in .the usual way he tried to 
bribe the keepers of the gates and to make use of 
other base methods, but without success. 

In his rage, Klingsor swore vengeance and de- 
Toted all his wicked arts to overthrowing the Tem- 
ple of the Grail. He made a beautiful garden on 
the other side of the mountain, which he filled with 
flowers, fruits, music and dancing girls. By this 
means he deluded many knights who had come from 
afar earnestly seeking the Holy Grail, so that, al- 
most at the goal, they forgot their quest and tarried 
idly in the gardens. 

Hearing of Klingsor’s wicked arts, Amfortas 
was filled with righteous anger. He determined 
to go forth and strike down the magician with the 
sacred Spear, which was his high badge of office. 
This Spear was second only to the Grail itself in 
value. It was the same that had pierced the 


100 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Saviour’s side while He was on the cross. It gave 
to its bearer the power of overcoming all his ene- 
mies, so long as he was true to the faith. But 
Amf ortas though zealous was too confident of his 
own strength. Going over the mountain hastily 
in search of Klingsor, he grew tired and thirsty; 
so when he came to a shady grove of fruit-trees 
by a splashing fountain, he did not recognise this 
as one of the wiles of the magician, but ate and 
drank, then threw himself down on the cool grass 
and fell asleep. The Spear was loosened from his 
grasp, in his slumber, and he was only awakened 
by a keen, smarting pain in his side. He found 
that he had been wounded ; and as he sprang to his 
feet he confronted Klingsor who was waving aloft 
the Spear in triumph. 

“Go back to your temple!” sneered Klingsor; 
“and bid the next man be not weary so soon!” 

In shame and sorrow Amf ortas departed, know- 
ing that he had sinned and could do nothing against 
the Spear now in the hands of the enemy. Ear- 
nestly he did penance in the temple and confessed 
his fault, but the wound in his side never healed. 
It gave him daily torment, and the sight of the 
Grail which had once brought healing seemed only 
to increase the pain. 

It had been Amf ortas’ duty to uncover the Grail 
each day at sacrament, but so dire was his suffer- 


PARSIFAL THE PURE 


101 


in g that he came to do it less and less frequently. 
The knights were very sorrowful because of these 
things, and they sent far and wide for healing bal- 
sams, but all remedies were powerless. Long did 
Amf ortas kneel before the altar praying in his pain, 
and seeking for a word of hope from above. At 
length one day an added radiance glowed about the 
Grail, and he heard a voice saying, 

“By pity enlightened. 

My guileless one, — 

Wait thou for him 
Till my will is done!” 

Amf ortas could not understand these words, but 
somehow his heart was lightened, and he thanked 
God that one day, be it near or far, he should find 
relief. The other Knights of the Grail also heard 
with joy of the strange message, for they did not 
doubt that it meant healing and peace. 

For many days they waited patiently and prayer- 
fully without receiving any further sign. Amf or- 
tas strove to sustain his courage, but it was a bitter 
test. Daily he tried the baths and also the balms 
which his knights often went to much peril to obtain 
for him ; yet the wound still showed no signs of heal- 
ing, and deep gloom settled down over the temple. 

One day while the aged keeper of the gate was 
sitting, as was his wont, with his face toward the 


102 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


little lake which nestled in the valley, his eye was 
attracted by a wild swan which soared peacefully 
above the lake. Suddenly it turned sidewise with 
a wild flutter of pinions and began to fall toward 
the water. The keeper saw that it was wounded 
by an arrow, and he hastened down to the lake to 
see who had done the deed; for it was forbidden to 
harm any creature, great or small, within sight of 
the temple. 

Just as he reached the bank, the swan fell at his 
feet and expired, while at the same moment a youth 
ran up to claim his prize. He was clothed in mot- 
ley animal skins, but he was strong and well knit, 
and with that frank look about the eye which de- 
notes both fearlessness and innocence. 

“Shame, shame upon you, boy, for shooting the 
swan !” said the old man sternly. 

“Why, what have I done?” answered the youth. 
“Do not men hunt birds and beasts? Methought 
it was a fine thing that I struck the bird so high.” 

“But you are now within holy ground, where ’tis 
sacrilege to harm any creature. And think what 
sorrow you have brought with your idle deed. This 
beautiful bird will soar in the clouds no more. It 
may have a mate, or perhaps little ones awaiting 
its coming. They will never see it again.” 

The boy stood with downcast eyes and troubled 
face. “Indeed, I never thought evil,” he said. 


PARSIFAL THE PURE 


103 


And seized by a sudden impulse he broke his bow 
across his knee and flung his arrows away. 

“What is your name, boy?” asked the knight. 

“I am Parsifal,” he answered simply. 

“Whence come you?” 

“I do not know.” 

“Where go you?” 

“I go to become a knight,” answered the boy. 
“I have always wanted to be a knight.” 

“But do you not know that great things are ex- 
pected of a knight? They must do other deeds 
than roaming about shooting harmless swans.” 

The boy flushed, but looked straight at the stern 
old man. “I know that a man must be brave and 
true,” he said; “and that he must keep his heart 
pure. My father, who died long ago, was such a 
knight, and my mother has always taught me to be 
like him.” 

“But you will have many strong trials before you 
can become a knight. You may have to wander 
all over the world and endure many hardships.” 

“I am ready for them,” answered the boy 
sturdily. 

“Truly you are a guileless fellow,” said the old 
keeper; “but I like your spirit. Would you like 
to witness a service in the temple and hear the 
choir-boys sing? Perchance you would like to be 
a choir-boy for awhile?” 


104 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Nay, but I came to be a knight. Nathless I 
will hear the singing.” 

The boy said this so calmly, that the knight was 
half sorry he had given the invitation; for chances 
to obtain entrance to the service were exceedingly 
rare. However, the word had been spoken and 
he would abide by it. 

They cast the dead swan into the lake and went 
together up the hill. Service of the sacrament was 
just being begun in the temple as they entered its 
doors. High up in the organ loft the rolling waves 
of music poured forth, filling every arch of the 
lofty building. Then the sweet voices of boys 
were heard chanting the refrain to which Amf ortas 
had set music: 

“By pity enlightened, 

My guileless one, — 

Wait thou for him 
Till my will is done!” 

Parsifal plucked the old knight’s sleeve. “What 
do they mean by that?” he asked. 

“Hush. I do not know,” replied the knight. 

Parsifal thought it strange that they should sing 
words no one understood, but he kept silence and 
looked upon the solemn service with wide-open 
eyes. 

The aged Titurel was present at the service. 
His days were almost numbered now, but he still 


PARSIFAL THE PURE 


105 


had his couch conveyed into the presence of the be- 
loved Grail when he felt strong enough. To-day 
he joined the other knights in urging his son Am- 
fortas to uncover the Cup and serve the sacrament. 

“Let me have the sacrament from out the blessed 
Cup once more before I die,” said Titurel. 

Amfortas shook his head and groaned aloud. 

“Not yet, my father! I am unworthy to un- 
cover the Grail!” 

Nevertheless the feeble Titurel urged the point, 
and all the knights knelt with solemn upturned 
faces, until at last Amfortas went and unveiled the 
Cup and poured wine therefrom, so that all might 
partake. Then he fell to the floor with a shudder 
of pain. The old wound had broken open afresh. 
But Titurel and the other knights partook of the 
sacrament, while the choir-boys chanted respon- 
sively and the deep organ pipes thrilled all the lofty 
arches. 

The old keeper of the gate went forward and 
partook with the rest, while the boy Parsifal stood 
spellbound behind a pillar and could make no mean- 
ing of what he saw. 

At last the keeper came and led him forth again 
to the open air, and then the lad’s tongue was 
loosed. 

“I pray thee, why did the King fall to the floor 
as if in pain?” he asked. 


106 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“The wound in his side pained him,” answered 
the keeper. 

“Why doesn’t it heal?” 

“That is a long story. But the wound was made 
by the sacred Spear, and ’tis said that only the 
touch of that Spear again can make it well.” 

“Then why does he not go and lay hold of the 
Spear?” 

“It is in a powerful magician’s hands.” 

“Can no one take it from him?” 

“No one has yet succeeded in the quest,” an- 
swered the knight. “But, boy, how did you like the 
service of the Holy Grail?” 

“I could make nothing of it,” said Parsifal, turn- 
ing as if to go. 

“Could make nothing of it!” exclaimed the old 
knight. “Truly you would not be much of a choir- 
boy. But where are you going?” 

“I go to seek the Spear that will heal the King,” 
answered Parsifal. 

The old knight let him go without further words. 
He even shook his head in some impatience. 

“Truly a guileless youth,” he said to himself. 
“A little knocking about in the world will not hurt 
him. He is too foolish to do us any good here. 
And as to being a knight — pish!” 

But just then the closing words of the service 
came echoing through the windows, and caused the 


PARSIFAL THE PURE 


107 


old man to start. He had heard again the mystic 
song, 

“By pity enlightened. 

My guileless one!” 

Now Klingsor the magician had cast a spell over 
a poor woman so that she was obliged to obey him 
in all things. Usually she was old and wrinkled, 
and passed for a witch in the countryside. But 
when Klingsor waved his wand over her she be- 
came the most beautiful maiden ever seen. Kundry 
was her name, and she it was who had charge of the 
groves and flowers and music and dancing girls 
which had caused so many knights to turn aside be- 
fore ever they reached the Temple of the Grail. 
Kundry, indeed, had caused Amf ortas himself to 
sin, on the day he lost the Sacred Spear. 

But when the spell was removed from poor Kun- 
dry she always bitterly repented her misdeeds. She 
had been very sorry for Amf ortas, in her wild way, 
and had herself brought balsam from distant lands 
to heal his wound, but without avail. 

No sooner was Parsifal on his way in search of 
the sacred Spear, than Klingsor was on the alert. 
Once more he summoned Kundry and bade her pre- 
pare the same kind of a trap for Parsifal as had 
lured the knights aside. But Kundry hotly pro- 
tested at this. She had seen the youth and greatly 


108 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


liked his open face and frankness. She rebelled 
against doing harm to one so harmless as he. 

“Let him pass on his way,” she pleaded. “He 
has done no evil and is too simple to find you un- 
aided, and even if he did, he could not take the 
Spear from you.” 

“Do as I bid you!” replied the magician, angrily. 
“It is precisely because he is pure and innocent that 
I fear him. Such an one’s coming has long been 
foretold.” 

So Kundry had nothing to do but sadly obey. 

When Parsifal drew near, walking over the crest 
of the hill, the palace of Klingsor suddenly sank 
into the earth and vanished, leaving in its stead a 
lovely flower-garden. Presently Parsifal stopped 
and listened, for he heard strains of music. 

“How sweet it sounds!” he said; “yet it seems to 
make the air heavy and uncomfortable. I wonder 
where it comes from?” 

Louder grew the music, and with it came the 
sound of girls’ voices. Just then he came to the 
entrance of the garden, where he paused spellbound. 
The flowers themselves were singing to him ! Each 
flower was in the lovely tints of a rose, lily, pansy 
or carnation, and out of the centre of each blossom 
peeped the bright eyes and laughing face of a be- 
witching maiden. 

“Come!” they sang to him; “come and rest by 


PARSIFAL THE PURE 


109 


the fountains ! Come, drink nectar, and let us sing 
to you while you rest in the shade!” 

“Nay,” said Parsifal, simply. “I like you all, 
and would gladly listen to your song; but I cannot 
tarry, for I am on an urgent errand.” 

“Come!” they pleaded; and the flowers seemed to 
weave in and out in a wonderful dance, nodding to 
him and beckoning him. “Come! Only a little 
while ! Then you will start forth rested and make 
better speed.” 

Parsifal shook his head. “I cannot enter,” he 
said, and turned to go, when another voice softer 
than the rest called his name. 

“Who called me?” he asked, turning about. 

“I called thee, lad,” said the sweet voice. 

He looked whence it came and saw a leafy bower 
opened wide, and in it sat a maiden fairer than 
ever heart could dream. It was Kundry, the ugly 
old witch, transformed by the power of the magi- 
cian into this glorious vision. 

“How did you know my name?” he asked, 
bluntly. 

“I knew thy mother, lad, and thy father, too. 
Wouldst hear of them?” 

“Yes, yes!” he cried eagerly. “Tell me of 
them!” 

“Then come within the bower and rest awhile. 
Here thou canst listen to the music and eat and 
drink and dance with these lovely flowers.” 


110 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Nay, but tell me now! Why should I pause 
when I am not faint? No good deed was ever done 
by stopping on the way.” 

“ Thou art a foolish youth,” said the maiden. 
“Why art thou in so great haste?” 

“I seek a magician,” he answered, frankly; “a 
magician who has stolen the sacred Spear.” 

“Ah, I can tell thee of him!” she cried — an evil 
light lurking in her eyes. “Come, sit by my side, 
and I will tell not only of him but of thy father 
and mother.” 

Parsifal turned at this, but entered the garden 
slowly. He knew no reason why he should not 
come in, and yet a great force seemed holding him 
back. “But how can I go on my errand,” he 
thought, “unless I find the way?” 

“I would hear about my mother first,” he said, 
seating himself by the maiden’s side. “Is she 
well?” 

“She is well, but has mourned sadly since thou 
didst go away. I saw her only a few days ago, and 
she sent thee her love and a kiss.” 

Here the witch leaned forward suddenly and 
printed a kiss upon his lips. It was intended to en- 
chant him, but for once it failed of its effect. Par- 
sifal sprang up as if stung by an asp. 

“Amf ortas! O Amf ortas!” he cried. “I know 
it now! The spear- wound in your side! Ah, the 
anguish of it has come upon me also!” 


PARSIFAL THE PURE 


111 


“Thou art wrong,” said the woman softly. “I 
have harmed thee not. Only stay!” 

“Not another moment!” exclaimed Parsifal. 
“Your garden is evil and brings death to men’s 
souls.” 

He turned to go, but the witch called aloud to 
the magician, for she knew her power was gone. 
And as she called, Parsifal saw a dark, dreadful 
figure before him that blocked his way. 

“Stay!” commanded Klingsor, waving the sacred 
Spear aloft. “Those who enter my garden can- 
not leave it so easily!” 

“Stand aside!” cried Parsifal. “I have done no 
hurt, and I fear you not!” 

“Thou wilt fear me when thou dost feel this 
spearpoint! ’Tis the same that undid Amf ortas.” 

“Ha! say you so? Then I have come to claim it 
in his name.” 

“Take it!” shouted the magician angrily. And 
he threw the weapon straight at Parsifal with ter- 
rific force. 

But miracle of miracles! it stopped of itself mid- 
way, and floated gently round about Parsifal’s 
head. He grasped it reverently and made the 
sign of the cross. 

“In this sign, perish!” he exclaimed. “Let all 
vour wicked magic vanish from the face of the 
earth!” 


112 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


As he uttered these words a tremendous crash 
was heard, followed by an earthquake. The gar- 
den, its flowers and music and running streams, 
were swallowed up in an instant, with all its in- 
mates. Parsifal alone remained on solid ground. 

He looked about him, but could see only a track- 
less forest with close spreading trees that shut out 
the blue sky and the light of the sun. He did not 
know which way to turn, or where stood the Temple 
of the Grail. But the sacred spear was still in his 
hand, and its presence seemed to bring comfort. 
He knelt and prayed for guidance, and as if in 
answer, the words of the old knight came into his 
memory, 

“You may have to wander all over the world and 
endure many hardships.” 

The young Parsifal wondered at this message. 
It seemed to come in answer to his prayer, and yet 
his spirit rose in questioning. “Why should I 
roam over the world when the King needs me so 
much, and his wound is not healed?” 

But no other answer came, and no path led out 
of the forest. So he made no further questions but 
went his way, trusting to Heaven to guide him, and 
the sacred Spear to protect him. When at last he 
reached the borders of the wood he found himself 
in a strange country. 

Thus it was that Parsifal began his pilgrimage. 



Thus it was that Parsifal began his pilgrimage 







PARSIFAL THE PURE 


113 


Long and hard it was, yet he did not falter or com- 
plain. And always his hand was ready to help the 
poor or the suffering, while little children came to 
him gladly knowing they had found a friend. 

Often his path led over steep, rough mountains; 
again it lay in burning sands of the desert; and 
again it was close to treacherous quicksands or 
yawning pits. But steadily he pressed forward, 
learning many things as he went, but never part- 
ing from any of his early purity or courage. 

Slowly, also, the great truth of the Holy Grail 
dawned upon him. He heard men speak of it with 
reverence and longing as the dearest treasure the 
earth possessed. Then he realised how lightly he 
had thrown away his own privilege through ig- 
norance and why the old knight at the gate had 
turned from him with impatience, as “guileless.” 
With humility and prayer he resolved that he would 
always try to be worthy of this vision, in the hope 
that it would again come to him. And in moments 
like this, when his whole soul was stirred with 
anguish, he seemed to hear an inner voice saying, 

“Courage! The Holy Grail is not far awayl” 

Thus years passed by, and at last Parsifal, for 
true and heroic service, was made a knight. Never 
was there a comelier. Strong and straight and 
graceful he stood, while his face was fair and pleas- 
ing and seemed continually to glow with an inner 


114 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


light. His eye was the very mirror of truth. He 
was, indeed, the image of that ancient ideal, a knight 
without fear and without reproach; and always he 
sought the deed that was most valorous and the 
duty that was most severe, hoping that his steps 
might be directed again to the Temple of the Grail. 

One night he heard the bleating of a lamb that 
had lost its way. Parsifal was far from shelter, 
and the night was stormy, yet he did not hesitate. 
He turned aside and sought in the darkness until 
he had found the little wanderer, then he wrapped 
it in his cloak and carried it to its mother. When 
he again sought his road he could not find it be- 
cause of the storm. He wandered on, and pres- 
ently saw that he was in the midst of a dense 
forest. Somehow even in the night it seemed fa- 
miliar to him, and his heart gave a great leap. He 
felt that the Holy Grail was close at hand! 

Then a flash of lightning disclosed to him a little 
cavern, hollowed out of a rock, and he entered it 
for shelter during the night, with thankfulness. 

The next morning the sun shone bright and 
warm, gilding the wet leaves of the forest with 
radiance. Parsifal followed a shining beam of gold 
straight through the forest — and there before his 
feet lay the lake where he had shot the swan so 
long ago. On the hill near by stood the Temple 
of the Grail. 


PARSIFAL THE PURE 


115 


Parsifal stuck the Spear upright in the soil and 
knelt in prayer and rejoicing that his long pilgrim- 
age was at an end ; then rose and took his steps to- 
ward the hill. 

“I wonder if the old knight of the gates is still 
alive,” he said to himself; “I should dearly like to 
see him again.” 

No sooner had he said this, than he saw an aged 
man tottering feebly along, and lo! it was the 
keeper himself. By his side walked a woman whom 
Parsifal seemed to remember, but could not quite. 
It was Kundry the former witch of the flower-gar- 
den. After this garden was destroyed she had 
been released from the magician’s spell, and she 
was now carrying water and doing other menial 
tasks around the temple in the hope of atoning for 
her past wickednesses. 

When the keeper saw the knight in splendid 
armour standing there motionless, he greeted him 
courteously and said, 

“Good-morrow, Sir Knight ? Do you come seek- 
ing the Temple of the Grail? Then know that 
you are even now on consecrated ground, where 
it is forbidden to come bearing arms or with helmet 
closed.” 

For answer Parsifal once more thrust his Spear 
into the earth, and laying aside his helmet knelt 
with his face toward the temple. Then the old 
knight remembered him. 


116 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“It is the youth of the swan!” he exclaimed to 
Kundry. “And see what he has brought back with 
him! The sacred Spear! O happy day on which 
the Spear comes home!” 

Then Parsifal rose to his feet, and seeing love 
and joy in the old man’s face he opened his arms 
and the two embraced right gladly. 

“All hail to thee, good friend!” cried Parsifal. 
“Long did I fear that I should never see thy face 
again.” 

“Dost thou remember me?” asked the keeper. 
“Long years have passed and much grief has bent 
my back, since the day I let thee go forth as guile- 
less and crack-brained.” 

“As indeed I was,” answered Parsifal, “but 
through failures and hardships and many trials the 
guileless one has been at last enlightened, even as 
they sang in that strange sweet song of the temple. 

“But tell me,” the young man continued, “is 
there not something changed about this holy place? 
Oft have I heard about it in my wanderings. Men 
told me that Mount Salvat was the abode of de- 
light; that here the birds sang, the knights went 
hither and thither with joy upon their faces, and 
the very air was filled with the spring-time of glad- 
ness. Is it not so; or is this only an idle dream?” 

“It was so,” answered the old man sadly, “but 
dark days have come upon Mount Salvat. For 


PARSIFAL THE PURE 


117 


pain of his wound, Amfortas has ceased entirely to 
serve the sacrament from the sacred Cup, and 
therefore are all the knights sad in their hearts. 
They have betaken themselves to cells like monks. 
The aged Titurel has died because he could no 
longer behold the Grail ; and I am only living on in 
penance waiting till I can join him.” 

“Nay, but all these things must not be!” said 
Parsifal. “Dost thou remember telling me, long 
ago, that the sacred Spear — this Spear! — would 
heal Amfortas of his wound? I set forth to seek 
it that very day. Come, let us take it into his pres- 
ence!” 

“Pray God the oracle may come true!” exclaimed 
the keeper joyfully. “And thou dost come at a 
good season, for it is the Good Friday service to- 
day, and Amfortas has promised to uncover the 
Holy Grail once again, be the cost what it may. 
But before we go up, thou must rest and be cleansed 
at this spring; and I will procure a white robe for 
thee.” 

So Parsifal laved his face and his hands at the 
spring, while the old man went in haste for the 
white robe. And while he sat there, the woman 
came up timidly and knelt down and unfastened his 
sandals and washed his feet. Then Parsifal 
looked down and remembered her. 

“Thou art Kundry,” he said; “thou hast come a 


118 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


long hard way, even as I have come.” He 
sprinkled her brow with a few drops of water from 
the spring. “I baptise thee into a new life,” he 
said ; “come with us this day to the temple.” 

The tears rained down glad Kundry’s face; and 
as she knelt there, it was transformed again into the 
loveliness of the maiden of the flower-garden, but 
purer, sweeter, and of a radiance not of earth. 
She was redeemed! 

Just then the soft chimes of the temple bells 
rang forth bidding them come to the service. The 
keeper returned with the garment which he put 
upon Parsifal and the three went up the path to 
the gates, Parsifal in the centre, bearing the sacred 
Spear. 

They had no sooner entered than the procession 
of knights filed by, preceded by the choir-boys who 
sang of the Holy Grail. Last of all came Am- 
f ortas, slowly and as if in great pain. He paused 
before the shrine and made as if to open it, while 
all the knights gathered about in reverent waiting. 

Suddenly he paused, clasped his hands to his 
side and cried out : 

“No! no! I cannot do it! Death is so near me, 
only let me die! slay me with your swords and 
choose another Guardian of the Grail! I cannot 
bear to unveil the Holy Cup ! Kill me, kill me, I 
pray you!” 


PARSIFAL THE PURE 


119 


His brow was wet with agony and he writhed 
with pain so that the knights drew back from him 
in terror. 

Just then Parsifal drew near in his flowing white 
robe bearing the Spear aloft. 

“Peace, O Amfortasl” he said quietly. “Only 
one weapon will ease thee of that pain: it is the 
one that caused it.” 

And with the sacred Spear he touched the 
wound, and lo! it was healed in an instant, and 
Amf ortas’ agony was changed to rapture as he 
knelt before the altar. 

“Thou art forgiven,” Parsifal’s voice went on; 
“forgiven to continue in thy service of the Grail. 
But nevermore shalt thou be its Guardian. The 
words of the oracle have come true. 

“ ‘By pity enlightened, 

My guileless one, — 

Wait thou for him 
Till my will is done !’ ” 

Then Parsifal went reverently to the shrine and 
uncovered it, while all the knights fell on their 
knees and prayed, and the ransomed Kundry fell 
prostrate and bathed the altar steps with her happy 
tears. He drew forth the Holy Grail and held 
it aloft, and instantly a ray of dazzling light fell 
from above and struck within the Cup, so that it 
glowed with glory which flooded all the temple. 


120 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


And down from the lofty dome fluttered a pure 
white dove which hovered lightly over his head. 
The knights saw and understood the sign; a new 
Guardian of the Grail was come to them. The 
temple had awakened to a higher service through 
the stainless life of Parsifal. 

Let us leave them there, in that holy service be- 
fore Easter, while the music rose and swelled tri- 
umphant, telling of victory over sin and death! 


Lohengrin the Swan Knight 

( Lohengrin ) 

i ‘TT EAR ye! hear ye! The King has come 
to Antwerp ! Who fights upon the 
King’s side?” 

The silvery blast of a trumpet rang out, follow- 
ing the clear tones of a herald’s voice; and in an- 
swer a great shout arose from a multitude of 
throats, for all the people in this wide stretching 
plain were eager to follow the standard of their 
warlike ruler. 

It was in the days not long after Parsifal had 
come to the Temple of the Grail. The kingdom 
of Germany, so long a prey to warring states, had 
found a strong head in Henry the Fowler who pro- 
tected the land from foes within and without. In 
times of peace it was his custom to travel from city 
to city holding court and listening to the grievance 
of every one, great or small. In war time, he 
levied troops and led them in person. His visit to 
Antwerp, on this occasion, was for both purposes, 
as the Hungarians had lately declared war against 
him and were threatening to invade Germany. 

Antwerp was capital of the ancient dukedom of 
121 


122 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Brabant, and one of King Henry’s chief cities. 
On his coming, therefore, he was greatly troubled 
to find the state rent with quarrels and secret dis- 
content. 

The King held his court in the open air, under 
the spreading branches of a stately tree, called the 
“Oak of Justice,” which stood on the bank of the 
winding river Scheldt. Here all the people gath- 
ered to pay him homage, and here — on the bright 
spring morning when our story opens — he caused 
the herald in brilliant livery to stand forth and blow 
upon a trumpet. 

“Hear ye!” cried the herald again. “The King 
has come! Who fights for the King?” 

Then all the people answered as with one voice, 
and came and knelt before the throne in token of 
allegiance. 

The King’s eye gladdened at the sight. 
“Verily,” he said, “with such stout arms and loving 
hearts as these, we will drive the enemy into the 
sea!” 

After he had greeted many by name, and many 
others had been presented to him, he saw one noble 
who had fought with him against the Danes. 

“Come hither, Frederick of Telramund,” he 
commanded. “As an oft-tried friend, I have a 
question to ask of you. How is it that Brabant has 
no head, but is rent with inner quarrels?” 


LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 123 


Frederick of Telramund stepped forward and 
bowed low. He was a tall man, with beetling 
brows and deep, piercing eyes. 

“I am thankful, my King,” he began in a heavy 
voice and with ill-concealed excitement, “that you 
have seen our troubles and will lend ear to the story 
of them. I will tell you the truth. The former 
Duke of Brabant was my friend, and when he died 
he chose me as guardian for his children, Godfrey 
and Elsa. I brought them up as carefully as 
though they were my own, and looked forward 
fondly to the time when Godfrey should be duke; 
also — shall I confess it? — when I might win Elsa 
for my wife. But all these hopes were destined to 
fail. Elsa was a proud girl, and I fear now that 
she coveted the dukedom for herself, though she 
pretended to have great love for her brother. 

“One day they went roaming in the woods and 
by the river’s brink, as they often did. When night 
came, Elsa returned without her brother. She was 
pale and trembling, and when we asked her where 
he had gone, she would only reply by wringing her 
hands and sobbing. That is all the answer we have 
got from her, from that day to this, and we cannot 
help fearing that she drowned him, or laid other 
violent hands upon him. 

“Of course, after this happening, I could no 
longer choose her hand in marriage. But I chose 


124 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


instead a lady whom I now wish to present to you 
— Ortrud, daughter of the brave King Radbod. 
In former times he was king over all this land ; and 
in my wife’s name I lay claim to Brabant.” 

As he finished speaking, Frederick took his wife 
by the hand and led her forward. She was a very 
handsome woman, though almost of masculine type, 
and her eye had a watchful look like that of a 
crouching tigress. She bent her head with the 
grace of a queen. 

The King knitted his brow at the story, and 
looked about as though seeking some one else whom 
he might question. Seeing his doubt, Frederick 
resolved upon a bold stroke. Turning he ad- 
dressed the people in a loud voice, saying: 

“I accuse Elsa of Brabant of the murder of her 
brother. If there be any here who can deny my 
charge, I challenge him to come forth!” 

No one moved, although there were mutterings 
here and there and sullen shakings of the head. 

The King rose suddenly and hung his shield upon 
a limb of the tree. 

“This is the Oak of Justice !” he said, “and I prom- 
ise ye that I will not depart from its shade this day, 
until I have made trial of this charge. 

“This shield no longer shall I wear 
Till judgment is pronounced, I swear.” 


LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 125 


At a signal, the herald came forward again and 
announced, “Now shall this cause be tried as an- 
cient law demands !” Then he blew a loud blast 
upon his trumpet and called upon Elsa of Brabant 
to come before her King for judgment. 

The people had received the announcement, that 
the King would try the cause, with breathless eag- 
erness. Now they parted to right and left and 
looked intently along the path Elsa was expected 
to come. They were not disappointed. After a 
few moments a train of ladies appeared walking 
slowly, two by two, toward the Oak of Justice. 
Among them was one dressed in pure white. Her 
head was uncovered, and her golden hair fell in soft 
curls about her shoulders. Her blue eyes had a 
far-away look in them, and her pale face was 
marked by lines that told of suffering. The lady 
Ortrud looked balefully at her as she came forward, 
but the people drew nearer to the maiden with 
marks of pity that showed their old love for her. 

The King himself was struck by this fair vision. 
The set look came out of his eyes, and he leaned 
forward and gently took her by the hand. 

“ Are you Elsa of Brabant?” he asked. 

The young girl bowed and wrung her hands in 
silence. 

“You are accused of the murder of your brother,” 
continued the King. “What have you to say?” 


126 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Oh, my poor brother!” cried Elsa; and not an- 
other word would she answer to the charge. 

“Speak!” said the King. “Do you not know 
that I must adjudge you guilty unless you confide 
in me?” 

Elsa looked up at the King and seemed to gain 
courage. The people gazed on the scene with still- 
ness as of death. Elsa’s voice was low but clear, 
and its tones were distinctly heard. 

“When I have been in deep trouble,” she said, 
“I have prayed to Heaven for help. It has been 
many times of late — O, many, many times! At 
last I was answered. I have had a dream, and it 
is such a beautiful dream that I know it must come 
true. A knight in glittering armour appeared in 
a vision and promised to be my champion whenever 
I should call upon him. O King, I claim him for 
my champion to-day! He will prove my inno- 
cence !” 

Her words answered nothing and proved noth- 
ing; yet such was her manner that the people be- 
lieved in her and shouted aloud that she was guilt- 
less. The King himself seemed to seek a pretext to 
let her go free; but Frederick of Telramund 
stepped boldly forward. 

“A likely story this, your Majesty!” he sneered. 
“Dream knights never yet have done anything; 
and if the Lady Elsa can but find her champion 


LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 127 


upon earth, here I stand ready to fight him to de- 
cide this cause.” 

The King looked at the maiden anxiously, and 
her face lit up at once. 

“I agree to these terms,” she said. 

Upon this the King gave orders that lists, or 
open spaces, should be cleared; and then he an- 
nounced that, following ancient custom, they would 
rest the issue of Elsa’s guilt or innocence upon 
single combat between champions. The herald 
once again came forward and blew a long blast 
upon his trumpet, and proclaimed, 

“Let him stand forth by Heaven’s right 
Who would for Elsa’s just cause fight!” 

There was a painful silence, while Frederick and 
Ortrud looked in smiling disdain upon the poor 
girl. 

“O my King!” she cried. “Summon him again! 
His home is far away and he may not have heard.” 

“Sound once again!” commanded the King, and 
again the trumpet call rang out. 

Again there was intense silence. Elsa dropped 
upon her knees and prayed until it seemed as 
though her very soul would burst with emotion. 
Suddenly a man nearest the bank of the river 
startled the silence with a cry. 

“A swan! a swan! And in its wake a boat bear- 
ing a knight!” 


128 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Every eye turned and gazed up the winding 
stream, and there, sure enough, was a beautiful 
white bird swimming easily and gracefully along 
and drawing a little boat with a knight in it. 

“A miracle ! a miracle !” shouted the people. 

As he drew near, they saw that the knight was 
clad in silver armour which shone dazzling white 
in the sun. Amid a general hush, the swan drew 
the boat to the shore, and the knight stepped out. 
Before greeting the King or court, he dismissed the 
swan in a tender little song of farewell: 

“I give thee thanks, my faithful swan. 

Turn thee again and stem the tide; 

Go back to that blest land of dawn 
Where thou and I did once abide. 

Full well thy loving task is done, 

Farewell, farewell, beloved swan! 

My faithful swan!” 

Then while the swan bent its head in sad obedi- 
ence and sailed away on the current, the knight 
turned to the King. 

“Hail, O King!” he said courteously. “I have 
come in answer to your summons to do battle in 
Elsa’s cause.” 

“You are right welcome, noble knight, from 
wheresoever you come,” answered the King. Then 
turning to Elsa, he continued, “Do you accept this 
knight to be your champion?” 



He was compelled to yield 
























































































































































































































LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 129 


“ ’Tis the knight of my dream !” she murmured, 
sinking at his feet. 

The King struck his shield three times with his 
sword. 

“Sound the call to combat!” he commanded. 

The call was given, and Frederick of Telramund 
took his place sullenly in the lists. He liked not 
the turn aff airs were taking, but his word was given 
and could not be withdrawn. 

The stranger knight lifted Elsa gently to her 
feet, then prepared to face his enemy. Another 
stroke upon the King’s shield, and the two antag- 
onists had crossed blades with a sharp crash. 

But not long did they fight. Frederick was 
clearly outclassed from the first; and after a few 
wild, furious blows, which the other lightly par- 
ried, his sword was sent flying from his hand, and 
he was compelled to yield to the mercy of his con- 
queror. 

The Knight of the Swan refused to take his life ; 
hut according to the law the defeated man was ac- 
counted a perjurer and doomed to exile. With 
downcast head he slunk away, followed by the 
proud Ortrud, who glared about defiantly to the 
last. 

But the victorious knight now heeded them not. 
He had turned to where Elsa stood, and held out 
his hands in the old gesture which every maiden 


130 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


must one day understand. With a glad cry she 
ran and nestled in his arms. 

“My hero !” she whispered. 

Then the knight turned proudly toward the 
King, and said in the hearing of all : 

“I would have the Lady Elsa as my wife.” 

“You have my consent with hers,” replied King 
Henry, heartily. “And with her hand goes the 
dukedom of Brabant.” 

At this all the 1 people shouted and threw their 
caps high in the air; for the new duke presented a 
handsome figure, while they had never liked the 
usurping Frederick. 

“Only one promise must I exact from the fair 
Elsa,” continued the champion. “If she cannot 
give it, I must release her from her silent pledge.” 

“What is that?” asked the King. 

“She must never ask me my name, or whence I 
come. That I am well born and worthy of her 
she can decide for herself. But no question must 
be asked as to my past life. Can you promise this, 
my Elsa?” 

He looked down anxiously at her, and she met 
his gaze frankly and trustingly. 

“I promise — my husband!” she answered in low, 
sweet tones. 

The Knight of the Swan kissed her upon the 
brow, while the King himself came forward and 
took each by the hand. 


LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 131 


“I shall take this maiden in my charge,” said 
Henry the Fowler, “and remain in Antwerp long 
enough to bestow her in marriage upon this man. 
Come, let us to the place and prepare for the ring- 
ing of the joy bells!” 

Then once again the people shouted with de- 
light, and came crowding up to share in the scene. 
The King’s shield was seized from the limb where it 
hung, and Elsa was placed upon it and borne forth 
in triumph, while the Swan Knight was likewise 
carried upon his own shield. 

To have heard the noise and rejoicing you would 
have thought that there was no one in all Brabant 
who did not share in the general happiness. But 
there were two who found it gall and wormwood, 
and these two were Frederick and Ortrud. De- 
prived of their wealth and power, and in danger 
of their lives, they suffered a just punishment for 
their wickedness. Frederick was for leaving Bra- 
bant at once, and seeking their fortunes in other 
countries. But Ortrud, whose spirit remained un- 
broken, would not hear of this. All along she had 
been his evil counsellor, and now she set going other 
schemes of mischief. 

The two stole forth at nightfall, clothed in beg- 
gar’s tattered garments, and made their way to the 
palace steps, where they listened to the sounds of 
rejoicing within the palace. 


132 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Ah ! I should still be there, if I had not listened 
to you,” groaned Frederick, who was a man of poor 
courage. 

“Cease your complaining!” answered Ortrud. 
“We will win the victory yet, and you shall be in 
power again, if you listen to me now.” 

“What can we do?” 

“Have you not heard of the promise made by 
Elsa to this Swan Knight? He is a magician, I 
warrant you, and all we need do is to prove it. She 
has promised never to ask his name. Now if we 
can get her to break that promise, he will vanish — 
mark my words!” 

Frederick sat up and looked around eagerly. 

“Ortrud, you are a genius!” he said. “But how 
can we do this? We are beggared and exiled.” 

“Trust me — but hush! I hear some one on the 
balcony!” 

It was Elsa herself, who came out for a moment 
to look at the stars and commune with her own 
great happiness. At sight of the girl’s face in the 
glow of the window, Ortrud crept softly round the 
balustrade and suddenly appeared before her 
startled gaze. 

“Pardon — pardon!” cried the crafty woman in 
a low tone, and sinking on the step at Elsa’s feet. 

“Who are you?” demanded Elsa. 

“I am an outcast. Out of your great happiness 
pity my deep misery!” 


LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 133 


“It is Ortrud!” exclaimed the girl, her heart 
made tender by her own love. “Poor woman, I did 
not seek to harm you. Your husband brought it 
on himself.” 

“I had naught to say,” coaxed the kneeling 
woman. “And now you would not send me forth 
from your door, to wander into the wide world a 
beggar!” 

“No!” exclaimed the generous Elsa, “I will 
shelter and protect you. Come with me !” 

She turned to order lights from two servants at 
the door; and Ortrud shot a quick glance of cun- 
ning triumph at her hidden husband, before enter- 
ing the palace. 

All that night Frederick lurked amid the 
shadows of the neighbouring cathedral and waited. 
He knew that their wicked schemes were in safe 
hands, with Ortrud on the inside; and although 
only a few short hours remained he took heart of 
hope. 

The wedding had been set for early the next 
morning, so that Henry the F owler could go to the 
wars. 

Hardly had the sun struck the lowest range of 
windows on the building, before an army of serv- 
ants appeared, as if by magic, and began decorat- 
ing walls, porticos, and pillars with streamers and 


134 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


flowers. When the sunlight had penetrated every 
corner of the court a herald came out and announced 
the approaching wedding. The King’s business 
demanded haste and so there had been no delay. 
The herald further announced that the stranger 
knight would accept the dukedom, but would be 
styled simply the Protector of Brabant; and that 
he was to go with the King’s troops and lead the 
men into battle against the Hungarians. 

The herald had scarcely ceased ere four pages 
appeared on the palace steps crying, “Make way 
for the Lady Elsa!” 

Again the ladies-in-waiting came forth, clad in 
white, and behind them came Elsa looking very 
lovely in her bridal robes and attended by her 
friends and some of the noblest ladies of the state. 
Near her walked Ortrud whom Elsa wished to hon- 
our, and who was attired in rich and costly robes. 

Slowly the wedding party filed across the palace 
courtyard to the wide-open doors of the great 
cathedral. The maids arrayed themselves on either 
side to let their mistress pass; but just as Elsa 
reached the portal, Ortrud suddenly rushed in front 
of her exclaiming, 

“No! you shall not enter first! I am higher 
born than you, and must take the lead!” 

“What do you mean?” asked Elsa, starting back. 

“I mean that your nameless knight won his vie- 


LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 135 


tory yesterday by fraud, and that I am still the 
rightful duchess of Brabant.” 

Elsa flushed red and answered her proudly, “A 
fitting return is this for my late kindness to you! 
And as to the victory it was won fairly in sight of 
all the people. Stand aside, rash woman, and let 
me pass!” 

Ortrud stood unmoved. “You would wed a 
pretty champion!” she sneered. “Why, you do not 
know his name ! And as for knowing his origin or 
character — forsooth!” (Here she snapped her fin- 
gers.) “I tell you he is a magician, and won his 
fight with my husband by powers of evil!” 

“It is false!” cried Elsa wildly. “You are a 
slanderous ” 

“The King! the King!” shouted the attendants 
at this moment. “Make way for the King!” 

The quarrel at the doorway ceased as the King 
approached followed by his knights. At his right 
hand came the Knight of the Swan, who seeing the 
commotion stepped quickly forward to Elsa’s side. 

“What is the trouble, beloved?” he asked quietly. 

“This dreadful woman!” exclaimed the girl, 
pointing to Ortrud. “She will not let me pass, and 
she has been saying wicked things about you.” 

The knight gave Ortrud one stern look before 
which even her vengeful spirit quailed. 

“Stand aside!” he commanded in a low voice. 


136 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“What is wrong?” demanded the voice of the 
King, who had come up with the group. 

“Nothing now, your Majesty. We will go for- 
ward,” answered the Swan Knight, taking his 
trembling bride upon his arm and mounting the 
cathedral steps. 

But at the threshold they met another inter- 
ference. Frederick of Telramund, who had been 
lurking about watching all that happened, sud- 
denly stepped from behind the door shouting, 

“Stay a moment, Elsa of Brabant. You are 
being deceived, foolish girl! You do not know 
whom you are marrying. He is a sorcerer, and 
overcame me by magic!” 

Elsa was like to swoon away at this unlooked-for 
happening. But the stranger knight whispered 
tenderly to her and reassured her. 

The King, on his part, was thoroughly aroused 
by the second interruption. 

“Begone, sirrah!” he exclaimed. “The fight was 
fair and the champion sent of Heaven. Come not 
into our presence again on peril of your life!” 

Without further hindrance the wedding party 
entered the church; and while the great organ 
pealed its strains of joyful music the knight and 
his lady were blessed and pronounced man and 
wife. 

All that day the festivities lasted. The King 


LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 137 


had commanded that a feast be spread for every 
man, woman and child in the city. The new Pro- 
tector of Brabant was publicly acclaimed in the aft- 
ernoon ; while, that evening, a state banquet was 
held in the palace. 

Then following an old custom the maidens went 
ahead of the newly wedded couple to conduct them 
to the bridal-chamber. And as they entered its 
door they sang a beautiful refrain that has greeted 
the ears of countless brides from that to this: 

“Fairest and best 
We lead thee on !” 

There the maidens left them and went away 
singing as they had come. When the last sweet 
note had died away, the knight took his wife’s two 
hands tenderly within his own. 

“Elsa,” he murmured, “do you indeed love me; 
or have you wed me only from a sense of duty?” 

“I have loved you ever since I beheld you in my 
dreams,” she answered. “But how came you to 
seek me out?” 

“I am indeed Heaven-sent, as I told you. But 
without your peril, I think that Love would have 
guided me to you. For I love you dearly, Elsa!” 

“Ah, how sweet my name sounds upon your 
lips!” she cried softly. “If I could but utter your 
own, my happiness would be full.” 


138 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


The knight gazed at her in silence a moment, 
then led her to an open casement. 

“Breathe all the fragrance of eventide,” he said. 
“Do you not distinguish many sweet odours beside 
the dew-laden roses near you? The breeze comes 
soft across the meadow and sea, bringing strange 
memories and hints of foreign shores. Is it not 
all the more delightful because we cannot pene- 
trate all these mysteries? Love itself is the great- 
est mystery of all. Let us love then and be happy 
in each succeeding day; for when they are past we 
cannot recall them. We can only remember, but 
the mystery is gone!” 

“Yes, let us love and be happy,” she answered 
doubtfully. “But, O my husband, what shall I 
say when evil remarks are made, as like those by 
that wicked woman to-day?” 

“Still thinking of her?” he replied with an at- 
tempt at lightness. “She will not annoy you again. 
For the rest, can you not trust me?” 

“Can you not trust me?” she insisted. “Am I 
not your wife and worthy of some degree of con- 
fidence?” 

“Elsa, once for all, this must not be! You have 
given your word to respect my secret. I assure 
you it is not a dark secret, and that I may look 
you frankly and joyfully in the face, as my wife. 
Isn’t that enough?” 


LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 139 


“But Frederick and Ortrud? What do they 
know about you? Why did they — oh, I cannot 
get their words out of my mind!” 

Elsa was in fact growing hysterical. She clung 
to him wildly as they stood in the window. Poor 
girl! her recent trials had left her an easy prey to 
the insidious attack of this day. 

The knight was very patient with her. He 
realised her unstrung condition, and tried to divert 
her mind by placing her gently in a chair where 
she could look out upon the river. 

“See how white the waters gleam in the moon- 
light!” he said. “The river seems like a silver rib- 
bon stretching away.” 

“And look!” she cried, pointing. “There comes 
the swan-boat to take you from me! Ah, do not 
go!” 

“Calm yourself, dear one! There is no boat.” 

“Oh, I cannot bear this mystery! I must ques- 
tion you!” 

“Elsa!” 

“I must, I must! What is your name?” 

“Alas,” he exclaimed. “Beware of what you 
say! Not another word I implore you!” 

“Whence do you come?” she continued wildly. 

At this moment a slight noise was heard at the 
door, and Frederick of Telramund burst in. He 
had enlisted the services of four of his former 


140 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


party, resolved to make one last bold stroke and 
kill the Knight of the Swan. But again he was 
no match for the knight. Alarmed by the noise, 
the latter sprang quickly for his sword and met 
Frederick midway in the room. A few swift 
strokes and that evil man lay dead upon the floor. 
The four nobles were seized with fear and came and 
knelt before the knight craving pardon. 

“Bear him to the King,” he said quietly, pointing 
to his fallen foe. “An audience will be held at 
early sunrise under the Oak of Justice.” 

The men bowed humbly and went away with 
their burden. 

Elsa had well-nigh fainted from the excitement 
and now laid her head sobbing upon the knight’s 
shoulder. 

“Forgive me!” she cried. “I recall my thought- 
less words.” 

For answer he kissed her lingeringly on the 
brow and then struck a gong which summoned her 
attendants. 

“I leave the Lady Elsa in your hands,” he said. 
“Array her as befits a bride, at the rising of the 
sun, and conduct her to the King. There I will 
answer all she asks.” 

The wondering maids hastened to Elsa’s side. 
She held out her hands to the knight beseechingly, 
but he passed from the room in silence with bowed 
head. 


LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 141 


The next morning early the King held court 
again beneath the Oak of Justice. This was the day 
he was to start for the wars, and many knights and 
soldiers had assembled to march with their leader, 
the new Protector of Brabant. Henry had just 
come, and was answering the greetings of his cap- 
tains, when the four nobles appeared bearing the 
body of Frederick of Telramund upon his shield, 
and followed by the weeping Ortrud. 

In answer to the King’s question as to the mean- 
ing of this, they replied that the Knight of the 
Swan would soon appear and explain everything. 
They had hardly finished speaking when Elsa and 
her maids came in view. Elsa was attired as yes- 
terday, in her bridal dress, but her face was woebe- 
gone, her hair dishevelled and her eyes red with 
weeping. So pitiable was her appearance that the 
crowd near broke into exclamations of pity, while 
the King rising hastily came forward and led her 
to a seat. 

“What is the meaning of all this?” he demanded. 
“By Heaven, I will know the truth!” 

“Your Majesty, the Knight of the Swan will 
soon appear and answer all questions,” said one 
of the maids. 

The King was about to make a quick remark, 
when the knight himself entered the throng. The 
men who expected to follow him into battle greeted 


142 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


him with cheers, but he made no response beyond 
a sad smile and shake of the head. He wore the 
same glittering armour of his first appearance, but 
his head was slightly bent as if in thought, and his 
steps were slow and reluctant. 

The hot-blooded King could no longer restrain 
himself. 

“I would know the meaning of these things!” he 
said, scarcely responding to the Swan Knight’s 
silent greeting. He pointed to the body of Fred- 
erick. “Who has done this deed?” 

“I slew him in self-defence,” answered the 
knight. Then he told of the attack within his 
room, and took the four nobles to witness that he 
told the truth. “With your Majesty’s permission 
I will leave the verdict to all the people,” he ended. 

Thus appealed to, the people cried loudly that 
he was innocent of wrong, and that Heaven had 
sent him to rid the land of a usurper and a coward. 

“I also deem that you have done justly,” said 
the King. “But what means the sorrow of this 
lady whom I took under my especial protection? 
Answer, and carefully!” 

“I have promised the Lady Elsa to answer her 
questions, and I shall likewise answer yours,” re- 
plied the knight, courteously. “The fighting men 
of Brabant — stout hearts and true — have gathered 
here to-day expecting that I shall lead them to the 


LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 143 


wars. This cannot be. I must tell my story and 
then bid farewell to all.” 

A general murmur of dissent arose at this, but 
the knight stood unmoved waiting for silence. 
Presently as a hush fell, he began to speak again, 
slowly and earnestly. 

“In a far-away land,” he said, “there stands a 
sacred hill called Mount Salvat. Upon this hill 
rise the walls and towers of a mystic castle, called 
the Temple of the Grail, for within it is preserved 
the most precious relic in all the world — the Holy 
Grail. The knights who guard this shrine are a 
close brotherhood who have renounced the world 
and given their lives to self-sacrifice and good deeds. 
In reward for this, the sacred Cup gives them power 
beyond that of other men. They may journey 
into distant lands to help the weak and relieve dis- 
tress, and always will they be victorious. But if 
they disclose the secret of their power, they must 
return to Mount Salvat. 

“Thus was I sent to become the Lady Elsa’s 
champion; and I had fondly hoped to dwell among 
you and be worthy of her love and trust. But now 
this cannot be. Enemies have persuaded her that 
my name and rank must be revealed; so it only is 
left for me to tell my lineage. I am not ashamed 
of this. I am the son of Parsifal, chief Guardian 
of the Grail. My name is Lohengrin.” 


144 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


As he ceased speaking, amid the profound 
silence, voices were heard from the river’s bank. 

“The swan! the swan! See, he comes again!” 

Elsa threw herself upon the ground in an agony 
of grief. 

“Ah, do not go away!” she moaned, clasping 
the knight’s feet. “Do not go away and leave me! 
I shall die!” 

Lohengrin extended his finger sadly toward the 
bend in the stream, where the swan drew the boat 
majestically forward. 

“ It is the summons of Heaven,” he said. “I 
have no other choice. Farewell, beloved, forever!” 

He raised her and she clung wildly to him as 
though she could not let him go. He gently re- 
sisted her. 

“See !” he said. “Here is my sword and ring and 
bugle, which will bring victory in every battle- 
field. Keep them for your brother, of whom I 
give you good news. He is alive and may return 
in safety one day. I had hoped to bring him back 
to you within the year if I had been permitted to 
remain.” 

“But you have failed, my fine hero!” cried a 
taunting voice which made them all turn quickly. 
It was Ortrud who had come forward for one last 
bitter triumph. “You have failed, so you and your 
poor pretty little bride may hear the truth. It was I 


LOHENGRIN THE SWAN KNIGHT 145 


who caused her to ask those troublesome questions ! 
And it was I who made away with her precious 
brother! I know one or two tricks of magic my- 
self, and one of them turned the boy — into yonder 
swan! Ha, ha, ha!” 

She laughed harshly and pointed to the mystic 
bird now at the river’s brink, while King and cour- 
tiers looked on in amazed silence. 

Lohengrin alone remained at her outburst. He 
sank upon his knees and, lifting his noble face so 
that the sunlight seemed to irradiate it with a glory, 
he prayed to Heaven earnestly and silently for 
aid. Suddenly, down a beam of light, a white 
dove fluttered. It was the dove of the Grail. 
Accepting this as a sign that his prayer was an- 
swered, Lohengrin unfastened the swan from the 
boat, when the bird vanished beneath the surface 
of the water, and in its stead rose a fair young 
knight. Lohengrin took his hand and led him for- 
ward. 

“This is Godfrey, the rightful Duke of Bra- 
bant!” he said. “Behold your chief, who will lead 
you to victory!” 

Godfrey knelt in homage to the King who 
had raised him up and embraced him, while the 
people promised him their glad allegiance. Then 
Godfrey and Elsa rushed into each other’s arms in 
the joy of reunion. Overcome with rage, Ortrud 


146 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


sank swooning across the steps of the throne. 
Meanwhile Lohengrin, seeing that Elsa was in 
the arms of her brother, entered the boat, whose 
chains were seized by the tiny dove. A flutter of 
its wings, and lo ! the boat moved easily out on the 
stream and went swiftly forward against the cur- 
rent. 

When Elsa raised her eyes from her dear 
brother’s face, she beheld the boat already far out 
upon the sunlit water. The knight stood leaning 
upon his shield, his whole figure shining, it seemed, 
with unearthly radiance, and alas! fading away like 
some splendid dream. 

With a last despairing cry of “My husband! my 
husband!” Elsa sank prostrate upon the shore. 
Her dream it had been, and it was ended. 


Tannhauser the Knight of Song 

(Tannhauser ) 

A FTER the coming of Christianity into the 
world, people no longer believed in the old 
gods and goddesses. They were called evil 
spirits, or else people said that they had never 
really existed at all. But there was one goddess 
who was still believed in, although she was feared 
and even hated. She was Venus, goddess of Love, 
and in the heyday of her power she was worshipped 
in many lands. For did not Love stir the hearts of 
all men, and would it not rule all the world at the 
last? And so Venus had been given all honour 
and affection ; and in return she had been the kind- 
est of all the deities and had tried to make her sub- 
jects happier and more considerate one with an- 
other. 

But now, as I say, all this was changed. People 
had ceased to worship Venus, and in revenge she 
began to do everything she could to injure them. 
Instead of pure affection which makes the heart 
glad, she sent a baser love which is only selfish and 
which brings jealousy and quarrels and heart-aches 

in its train. And Venus herself, from being a god- 
147 


148 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


dess, became a witch. She went to dwell in a deep 
cavern within a mountain in Germany which came 
to be called the Venusberg. Here she would lie 
in wait for men whom she would enchant and keep 
imprisoned within the mountain forever. They 
would forget their homes and loved ones — every- 
thing — while they served her and were subject to 
her wiles. They no longer saw the sun or moon 
or stars or the fresh green of the springing grass. 
Instead, they lived in a rose-coloured twilight filled 
with beautiful clouds, the heavy perfume of flowers, 
and the dancing, laughing figures of youths and 
maidens — spirits of this mysterious underworld 
ruled by the witch Venus. 

One day while this enchantress was watching 
and waiting near the entrance to her grotto she 
saw a knight coming slowly over the mountains. 
He was young and handsome, with the first fine 
strength of early manhood, but just now he seemed 
moody and dispirited. Venus who could read the 
hearts of men knew who he was and whence he 
came, but as you have not yet heard, I will pause 
to tell you. 

The young knight’s name was Tannhauser and 
he lived in the country of Thuringia. At this time 
there were many minstrels, or strolling singers, in 
the land, and so popular were they at all the courts 
that even the knights laid aside their swords and 


TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 149 


spears and forgot their j oustings for the harp and 
its music and the contests of song. The King of 
this country, in his castle at Wartburg, had held 
many song contests or tournaments, and great was 
the honour to any knight or minstrel who won his 
prizes. 

One of the best harpers and sweetest singers of 
them all was Tannhauser. He had early shown a 
fine ear for music, and when the time came for him 
to enter the contests, he won many prizes and bade 
fair to outdistance all the others. Indeed, it was 
whispered that so appealing were his harp chords 
and so wonderful was his voice, that he had quite 
won the heart of the King’s niece, the Princess 
Elizabeth. 

Yet Tannhauser was not entirely happy. He 
loved the Princess and he loved his music, but al- 
though both smiled upon him he felt vaguely dis- 
satisfied. It seemed to him as though the hon- 
ours and pleasures of the world had come with too 
little effort. He wanted to reach out beyond for 
other things still unattainable — he knew not what. 

Finally he bade farewell to the Princess, and to 
his friends at the castle, saying that he was going 
to travel in distant lands. The parting was sor- 
rowful, although he had fully resolved upon it; 
and now as he set forth across the mountains car- 
rying only his harp he was doubly sad and cast 
down. 


150 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Suddenly the rock door of a cavern swung aside 
before his gaze as if by magic. In the dimly lighted 
entrance he saw a beautiful woman standing and 
stretching out her arms to him. Her figure was 
outlined by a halo, as it were, caused by the rosy 
glow which came from within the cave. It was 
Venus who sought to lure him. Her terrible 
witches’ eyes were hid behind a smiling face, and 
she was once again the fairest woman in all the 
world. Now she wove a spell while she beckoned 
to him. 

“Come,” she said softly. “I have seen your un- 
rest and alone can bring you happiness. In my 
blest land you will find all the music and beauty for 
which you seek. Come!” 

Scarcely knowing what he did, the knight obeyed 
the enchantress and entered the portal. As he did 
so the heavy stone closed behind him and at the 
same moment the memory of his earth-life vanished 
like a dream. He had become in a moment a sub- 
ject of Venus. Taking him by the hand she led 
him far into the depth of her mysterious realm, and 
at every step his wonder and delight increased. 
Here the very trees seemed attuned to harmony. 
There the waves of a deep blue lake sang of love 
as they beat upon the shore. Out on the water 
swam bewitching mermaids; while on the strand 
the light graceful figures of elves and sirens en- 
gaged in mimic warfare. 



He saw a beautiful woman 




















































































* 











. • 


























TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 151 


Here at last Tannhauser thought he had found 
true beauty and happiness. And so he gladly 
served his queen for a whole year, thinking of it 
only as a single day. He had, in fact, completely 
forgotten his old life, and lived wholly in the pres- 
ent, content with the joys of the moment. 

But at last a change came over him. Some- 
thing, he knew not what, stirred within him and 
told him that he was a slave. He began to realise 
that he was under the power of a spell and that he 
had given up many things for which he now dimly 
longed. He began to grow restless and silent. 

The watchful Venus saw this new mood almost 
before he was aware of it. Anxious to overcome 
it, she prepared new and wilder pleasures day by 
day. Dances, pageants, masquerades, tableaux, 
banquets and tournaments followed each in be- 
wildering succession. Concerts were given which 
far excelled the music of earth. Her wiles seemed 
successful. For the time, Tannhauser forgot his 
moodiness; and when Venus asked him to compose 
a song in her honour, he responded with one full of 
praise of her beauty and charm. Then he sang of 
the life at Venusberg and its attractiveness. But 
even as he sang his new found longing gained hold 
of him and he ended with an outburst which sur- 
prised even him: 


152 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“ ’Tis freedom I must win or die, 

For freedom I can all defy. 

In rose-hued grottos I am longing 
For all the soft wood zephyrs thronging. 

For vision of fair heaven’s blue, 

The songs of birds, the old earth’s view ! 

Come life, come death, forth would I go 
To taste of human joy or woe. 

No more in slavery would I lie, — 

O queen, O goddess, let me fly!” 

Venus was full of anger at this direct appeal for 
freedom, in spite of all her arts; but she hid her 
feelings behind a smile and said in soft tones, 

“Whither would you fly? Are not all things 
here in perfection? What more would you desire? 
Ask, and you shall be obeyed!” 

“I want only freedom,” said the knight mourn- 
fully. 

“What is freedom? Where could you go? The 
earth you speak of has forgotten you. Here you 
are immortal and all things are yours.” 

“Still I would away,” persisted Tannhauser. 
“I know not where. O queen, give me leave to 
try another life for myself — something that will 
meet this new found longing within my breast! I 
will not be disloyal to your memory. Indeed, I 
will sing your praise, and yours alone. But give 
me leave to go!” 

“Then depart!” said Venus, her voice growing 


TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 153 


cold with anger. “Out of my sight, ungrateful 
mortal! But heed well my warning. You have 
lost your hold upon the other world by lingering 
here, and men will shun you when they find whence 
you come. Some day you will return to me, and 
willingly. Till then, away!” 

She stamped her foot, and in a moment the 
scene changed like the dissolving picture upon a 
stage. Instead of the grotto with its perfume and 
dim lights and dancing figures, Tannhauser found 
himself lying upon a grassy knoll under the wide 
blue sky of heaven and with the bright sunlight 
streaming full upon him. He rose as if waking 
from a deep sleep, stretched his limbs and took a 
long breath of the sweet pure air. As he did 
so he cast his eyes across the valley and instantly 
his past life came back to him fresh and distinct as 
if but yesterday. 

There stood the noble castle of Wartburg where 
he had taken part in the contests of song; where 
the King had been gracious to him; and where the 
beautiful Elizabeth had smiled at his coming. A 
pang smote his heart when he remembered her 
sweet graciousness. Where was she now ; and how 
long had it been since he proved so unworthy of 
her? 

Near by, a shepherd played upon his pipe while 
his flock grazed contentedly near him. Presently 


154 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


the piper called the sheep and they fallowed him 
down the valley to fresh pastures. 

Then the sound of men’s voices singing came to 
the knight’s ears from a distant mountain path. 
Slowly it drew near and grew more distinct — a 
mournful yet beautiful melody chanted by a group 
of pilgrims on their way to Rome. As the words of 
the penitential song reached him, the knight felt 
for the first time the weight of his sin in turning 
aside from the path of duty. Overcome with re- 
morse he fell upon his knees before a wayside cross 
and prayed fervently for forgiveness. 

While he knelt a new sound smote the air. It 
was the blast of hunting horns mingled with the 
joyous baying of hounds. Presently the King 
himself entered with a troop of huntsmen starting 
out upon the chase. As they passed near the kneel- 
ing knight the King recognised him, and reigning 
his horse he asked kindly where Tannhauser had 
been. 

“I have been in strange lands, your Majesty,” 
answered the minstrel knight sadly. “I went in 
search of many things, but I found them not. I 
pray you let me fare on my way.” 

“Not so,” answered the King. “We have missed 
you greatly in the lists of song, and upon the chase. 
Stay with us at least for a time.” 

The other knights joined the entreaties of the 


TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 155 


King. To tell the truth, some were not over anx- 
ious for his return, as they remembered only too 
well how he had vanquished them in singing. But 
there was one of their number who had been Tann- 
hauser’s steadfast friend — Wolfram von Eschen- 
bach by name — who hastened to greet him and urge 
him to remain with them. Wolfram had been a 
rival of Tannhauser, not only in song but also for 
the favour of the Princess. Yet this did not de- 
tract from his generous welcome. 

But still the wandering minstrel hesitated to re- 
turn; and it is probable that he would have gone 
on his way had not Wolfram said in a low voice, 

“Let the welcome of still another win you back 
to us. There is one yonder in the castle to whom 
the sight of your face will bring back the light in 
her eyes and the smile on her lips. In sooth she 
has drooped sadly since you went away. And the 
contests of song which she was wont to grace with 
her presence are now forsaken by her. Need I 
tell her name to you? Have you indeed forgotten 
the fairest among maidens, the Princess Eliza- 
beth ?” 

Tannhauser trembled violently at the mention 
of her name. A deep longing came over him to 
behold her face once more and hear the sound of 
her voice, although he felt with tenfold anguish the 
sense of his own unworthiness. His eyes were full 


156 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


of tears as he turned and looked toward the castle 
shining in the sunlight upon the farther hill. 

“I pray you lead me to her presence,” he said 
simply. 

“Come!” commanded the King, seeing Wolfram 
take Tannhauser by the hand. And turning with 
all his cavalcade he escorted the wanderer back to 
the castle with all the pomp of a conqueror. 

That very night had been set apart for one of 
the yearly contests of song; and though the lists 
had long been closed, the King gave command that 
Tannhauser’s name should be added. The Prin- 
cess Elizabeth had not been visible when the com- 
pany first returned to the castle. Rut she had 
heard of her knight’s return, and had joyfully 
promised to attend the contest ; so the occasion bade 
fair to be of more than usual splendour. 

In the evening, before the expected guests were 
assembled, the Princess went to the Minstrels’ Hall 
— a large circular chamber with high columns and 
arched roof — to attend personally to setting it in 
order, and also perchance, as her heart confessed, 
to catch an early glimpse of her beloved knight. 

Fair was the Princess as a May morning, with 
deep blue eyes that had caught some of the far-off 
sky in them. Her hair was soft and golden and 
curly as that of a little child. Slight of frame was 


TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 157 


she, but with a gracefulness and height that gave 
her a queenly dignity. Her cheeks, too often pale 
of late, were to-day flushed with animation. She 
had indeed missed her minstrel sadly, and now her 
heart bounded at the news of his return. 

Presently she heard a familiar footfall in the 
room, and knew without looking up that it was he. 

“O Princess, forgive!” said a voice. Tannhauser 
was kneeling at her feet, his hands stretched out 
imploringly. 

“You must not kneel to me,” she answered, 
gently endeavouring to raise him. “It is not for 
me to forgive. Only tell me where you have been 
so long.” 

“I cannot tell you that,” he replied brokenly. 
“I have wandered far away from your dear pres- 
ence ; and between yesterday and to-day the veil of 
oblivion is dropped. Every remembrance has for- 
ever vanished save one thing only rising from the 
darkness, — the thought that some day I might be- 
hold your face again and hear you say, ‘ I for- 
give.’ ” 

Elizabeth covered her face with her hands, but 
the glad tears trickled between her fingers; and 
Tannhauser, beholding her emotion, realised how 
deeply he had been loved and what a pearl he had 
cast away. 

But the Princess like all loving women was for- 


158 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


giving. She asked no more questions of the min- 
strel, but when he took one of her hands and then 
the other, as all lovers will, she let them linger in 
his own in perfect content. 

The entrance of the King broke upon their little 
scene of reconciliation. He saw it all at a glance 
and came forward with a frank smile. 

“Ah, it is as I had hoped!” he said, as he took a 
hand of each and held it for a moment. “Now let 
us have no more quarrels, but live together as har- 
moniously as one of our minstrel’s songs.” 

Thus it was that Tannhauser realised, in a great 
wave of thankfulness, that his old life was still open 
to him, and not closed as Venus had said. He re- 
solved to be worthy henceforth of his position and 
honours. Above all would he cherish this sweet 
Princess who loved him so unselfishly. 

Not long after this, the sound of trumpets pro- 
claimed that the contest was about to begin. The 
King and the Princess took their places upon a 
dais at one side of the hall, while Tannhauser re- 
tired to make his proper entry with the other min- 
strel knights. 

Soon the people began to throng the hall. No- 
bles and ladies came first and passed before the 
throne and bowed before taking their seats. Then 
came warriors and chosen guests. And finally with 
another flourish of the trumpets entered the singers 


TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 159 


of the evening. Each was a famous knight who 
like Tannhauser had laid aside the sword in favour 
of the gentler harp. The fame of some of these 
knights, like Wolfram von Eschenbach and Walter 
von der Vogelweide, is known to this day. But 
among them all none was more handsome or of bet- 
ter renown than Tannhauser. 

As these knights did obeisance and took the 
places assigned to them, the King rose and thanked 
them all for their attendance. The subject of the 
songs, he said, was to be “Love”; and whoso should 
sing best on this lofty theme should receive the prize 
from the hand of the Princess Elizabeth. Let him 
ask what he would added the generous King, and it 
should be granted. 

More than one of the knights had been a suitor 
for the Princess’s hand, and they saw in this prom- 
ise a reward for their dearest hopes. So you may 
imagine what a wave of suppressed excitement went 
around all the crowded hall at this announcement. 
The hands of the minstrels trembled as they drew 
lots for the order of their songs. 

The lot of Wolfram came first, and amid a pro- 
found hush he rose to begin. 

Thrumming the harp strings with a practised 
hand he began in a low clear voice to sing of un- 
selfish devotion and chivalry. Wolfram had long 
loved the Princess, but had generously yielded place 


160 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


in favour of his friend Tannhauser. Now his song 
showed the nobility of the man. He paid tribute 
to the ladies of the court among whom the Princess 
shone as some rare gem. Then, his voice rising 
steadily higher till it thrilled his hearers, he sang 
of the one true love that counted its highest joy the 
sacrifice of even life itself for the loved one. 

When Wolf ran had finished, the hall resounded 
with cries of acclamation; for indeed his song had 
been beautiful, and no less true. Tannhauser alone 
did not join in the applause. While the song was 
being sung he had sat silent as one in a dream. 
Again before his eyes came the vision of the fairy 
grotto with its gorgeous pictures and entrancing 
music. He seemed to see the bewitching figure of 
Venus and to hear his own voice as he promised her, 
“ I will sing your praise and yours alone.” 

Scarcely knowing what he did, Tannhauser 
sprang to his feet, before the applause for his rival 
had subsided, and began to sing an answer to Wol- 
fram’s strain. But how different was his theme! 
Instead of the pure exalted love which gloried in 
self-sacrifice, he sang of selfish desire which sought 
only for personal gratification. Truly the enchant- 
ment was still upon him, for he could think only of 
the life of the grotto and the round of pleasures 
which had been planned for him, rather than of any 
devotion upon his own part. But that was the 


TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 161 


way in which Venus, once the goddess of true love, 
now weakened men’s minds. 

When Tannhauser began to sing, the audience 
gave him close heed. He had not proceeded far, 
however, with his strange theme, when murmurs 
of anger and dissent began to be heard, which in- 
creased until one of the minstrels at length sprang 
to his feet. 

“The love you sing is false!” he cried; “false as 
your own heart ! We will not hear it in silence, nor 
suffer you thus to cast a slur upon all true knights. 
I challenge you to mortal combat !” 

These words were loudly cheered by other min- 
strels. The entire hall was in an uproar until the 
King arose and commanded silence. Then Wol- 
fram was seen standing once more with harp in 
hand, beckoning to be heard. 

In words of kindly reproach he rebuked Tann- 
hauser for his selfish and unworthy song. He 
could not know what real devotion was, Wolfram 
said, if he placed it upon so low a plane. Then 
Wolfram again touched his harp strings and sang 
a pleasing tender refrain in praise of the love to 
which they all aspired. 

But Tannhauser rudely interrupted him, and 
heeding not the clamour which broke forth again, 
he sang in wild reckless fashion of the life he had 
led during the past year. He told of the grotto. 


162 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


its music, its perfumes, its exquisite scenes and 
round of delights presided over by Venus herself. 

“Your heroic self-sacrifice,” he ended sneeringly, 
“is cold and tame in comparison with this! And 
the fairest women of earth pale into insignificance 
beside this wonderful goddess. Ah, Venus, I 
have kept my promise! Thine be the praise!” 

He ended as one in a trance — as in truth the 
poor knight must have been. He stood motion- 
less with gaze fixed as it were upon some hidden 
scene, while his harp fell clattering from his hand 
to the ground. 

Then the outcry burst forth with redoubled fury. 
The minstrels surged forward tumultuously cry- 
ing: 

“He has been to the Venusberg! He has fallen 
under the power of the evil one ! Away with him ! 
Kill him!” 

In their anger and horror of him they must have 
slain him, had not some one interposed. But quick 
as thought a slender, white-robed figure stood be- 
tween them and the misguided knight, and held 
out her hands entreatingly. It was Elizabeth. 
She had sat there sick at heart listening to her 
chosen minstrel’s song. All too well she saw how 
unworthy was the one to whom she had given her 
heart; but, once given, she could not recall it in a 
moment. She would pray for him, and live in the 
hope that he might yet prove worthy. 


TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 163 


“Stop!” she cried to the nobles who circled about 
Tannhauser, with swords drawn. “Stop, I com- 
mand you! Would you slay him with all his sins 
ripe upon his head?” 

“He has dishonoured knighthood!” muttered the 
minstrel who had previously challenged him. “He 
deserves no mercy.” 

“Then that is all the more reason why you should 
grant mercy,” she answered. 

By this time the King had asserted his authority, 
and soon the semblance of peace was restored. 
Then Elizabeth in all her sweet dignity pleaded the 
cause of Tannhauser. Addressing now the King, 
now the nobles, and now the knight himself, she 
pointed out that Tannhauser was still under the 
spell of evil into which he had fallen, and was not 
accountable for his deeds. 

“Give him another opportunity, O my King!” 
she concluded. “Perchance in the doing of some 
penance or some gracious act, his better heart will 
assert itself, and he will then see how he has 
wounded all our hearts this day.” 

As she finished speaking she turned, to find at 
her feet the penitent knight. The vision had 
passed leaving him bowed down under the burden 
of his sin and unworthiness. He kissed the hem of 
her garment while tears flowed fast and unchecked 
from his eyes. For his life he cared not a straw. 


164 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


But that he should have sunk so low in the eyes of 
this noble woman — the thought smote his heart with 
keenest anguish ! 

Then the voice of the King came to him, as it 
were an echo, — 

“One path alone can save you from perdition and 
everlasting woe, abandoned man! That path is 
now open to your steps. To-day a band of pil- 
grims are setting forth on their toilsome way to 
Borne. Depart with them and seek pardon for 
your sins.” 

Even as the King spoke, a chant was heard 
through the open portal. Tannhauser recognised 
it as the same sweet strain he had heard that morn- 
ing by the wayside cross. He kissed the hem of 
Elizabeth’s robe once again and dared to look with 
mute entreaty into her eyes. Then he sprang 
quickly to his feet and addressed the King in two 
wild, hopeful words. 

“To Rome!” he cried, and hurried from the hall 
to join the pilgrim band. 

One year passed slowly by. Again it was spring- 
time, fragrant with the bursting of buds and 
melodious with the song of nesting birds. And 
now the return of the pilgrims was anxiously ex- 
pected at Wartburg. But among them all, no 
heart was more anxious than Elizabeth’s. Day 


TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 165 


after day she had sat in the casement overlooking 
the valley. Night after night she had knelt in fer- 
vent prayer for the safety of one who was a wan- 
derer over the face of the earth. Amd daily would 
she go, attended by her maids, to the little way- 
side cross where Tannhauser had knelt when the 
pilgrims passed by. Indeed, her whole life seemed 
to hang upon the love which she had given and 
could not recall. Her prayer was only that her 
loved one might be forgiven, and that she might see 
his face again before she died. 

One afternoon just at sunset while she knelt, as 
her custom was, before the cross, Wolfram von 
Eschenbach approached her. His love was still as 
noble and unselfish as it had been in former days, 
and so he longed almost as earnestly as she for the 
return of her pilgrim, forgiven. That she might 
be happy and restored to health was his great de- 
sire. To-day the sight of her pale and wasted fea- 
tures alarmed him. 

“Health to you, my Princess!” he said, saluting 
her, and then continued, “Methinks it is now about 
the time of year when our pilgrim band should re- 
turn.” 

“Hast heard any news?” she asked, starting up. 

“None. But the hermit Peter is of opinion that 
they will be hack before another change of the 
moon.” 


166 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“Ah, God grant that they may!” the Princess 
said wearily sinking again before the cross. 

While Wolfram stood gazing sadly at her dear 
face, she suddenly turned her head, and a look of 
rapt attention came into her eyes. 

“Listen!” she exclaimed softly, while she sprang 
again to her feet. “Listen! do you not hear it? 
It is their song!” 

It was indeed the far-off chant of the pilgrims 
which her quick ear had caught. They were re- 
turning at last ! 

Soon the little company came in sight, and then 
filed slowly by, rejoicing that their penance had 
been accepted and their sins forgiven. But to the 
eager eyes of the two onlookers one figure did not 
appear. Tannhauser was not among them. 

“He will never return!” said Elizabeth quietly; 
and giving one last despairing glance down the val- 
ley she fell upon her knees and made a last pitiful 
little prayer. It was that death might soon come 
to ease her aching heart. Until then she vowed de- 
voted service to the church, and she asked in return 
that Tannhauser might still be forgiven. 

The prayer ended, Elizabeth rose and slowly 
walked away toward the castle. Wolfram looked 
after her, as long as she was in sight, with a strange 
foreboding clutching at his heart-strings, — it was 
that he would never see her again alive. 


\ 



Wolfram looked after her 













































































TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 167 


The sun had long since sunk, and the twilight 
was deepening, but Wolfram still lingered by the 
little cross made sacred by her presence. As he 
tarried, the evening star rose above the rim of hills 
and began to glow with peaceful brilliancy. It 
seemed to Wolfram as though the soul of Eliza- 
beth were there, shining in that far-off sky. He 
began to sing a beautiful measure filled with this 
thought and beginning, 

“O thou sublime, sweet evening star!” 

Scarcely were the last notes silent when a pil- 
grim drew near. He was tattered, footsore and de- 
jected, yet at the first glance Wolfram knew him. 

“Tannhauser!” he exclaimed. “What does this 
mean? Do not tell me that you have not received 
pardon, for the King would not allow you to re- 
turn otherwise.” 

Tannhauser did not reply to his question, but 
merely said: 

“Show me the road to the Venusberg. I have 
lost my way.” 

“You have indeed lost your way, unhappy man, 
if you would return to that evil place!” exclaimed 
his friend. “But first tell me, have you been to 
Rome?” 

“I have been to Rome.” 

“Were not your sins forgiven?” 


168 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“You see how I return,” answered Tannhauser 
defiantly. 

“I pray you, for old friendship’s sake, tell me 
all!” pleaded Wolfram. “Did you not do penance, 
and then go before the Pope?” 

“Aye, so I did! Every pain and penance set 
forth in the calendar I did faithfully perform. I 
afflicted my body with grievous blows. I gave all 
my substance to the poor. I ministered to the sick. 
I prayed night and morning before every shrine. 
I asked forgiveness continually, yet my soul felt 
heavy and oppressed. Then I went before the 
Holy Father and confessed all my sin. He had 
pardoned the other members of our band ; but when 
he heard that I had lived a year in the Venusberg he 
was filled with horror and indignation. 

“‘Out of my sight!’ he exclaimed. ‘There is 
no mercy for such as you! As soon would I expect 
this staff in my hand to bud and bring forth green 
leaves.’ 

“Thus am I for all time accursed,” continued the 
wanderer bitterly. “There is but one thing left for 
me to do. The enchantress told me that all men 
would renounce me and that when I was driven 
from the world I could find refuge again in her 
grotto. I must turn to her.” 

“Ah, do not go!” said Wolfram, laying a de- 
taining hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “Do not 


TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 169 


throw your last slender chance of salvation away; 
hut live a life of good deeds and self-sacrifice! 
There was one who knelt at this cross only this 
evening and prayed to heaven for your pardon. 
Such prayers do not go unheeded 1” 

“Too late!” groaned Tannhauser. “I am ut- 
terly unworthy and cast off! If you will not di- 
rect my steps to the Venusberg, I must summon 
the goddess herself to my aid.” 

And raising his voice he called aloud to Venus, 
under the name of goddess, and asked her to aid his 
distress. 

Instantly the shades of evening were lighted by 
a ruddy glow, while a heavy fragrance smote the 
senses. In a radiant mist dim figures were seen 
which danced forward laughingly and beckoned and 
pointed. And down the bright broad pathway 
they trod, a flood of rose-coloured light streamed 
from a portal in the side of the hill, while there in 
the entrance stood Venus, a vision of evil beauty 
and charm. 

“Farewell, forever!” cried Tannhauser to his 
friend. “I go to the only haven left for me.” 

“No, no!” exclaimed Wolfram; “an angel is even 
now pleading your cause in Heaven. It is the soul 
of Elizabeth! See!” 

He pointed as he spoke to a procession of woe 
that was filing out of the castle gate. It was a 


170 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


group of mourners bearing torches and chanting a 
solemn refrain. As it drew near a bier was dis- 
cerned in the midst, and thereon lay the lifeless 
form of the Princess. 

“Elizabeth! Ah, dear Lord have pity!” said 
Tannhauser in hushed tones while he watched the 
procession advance. “Have pity and save me from 
the power of the evil one!” 

At these words the magic light of the Venusberg 
vanished as suddenly as it had come. The en- 
chantress realised that her victim was lost to her 
forever. 

But Tannhauser paid no heed to these things. 
He stood only gazing at the mournful procession 
which was passing by. At a gesture from Wolfram 
it halted; and then Tannhauser came with slow, 
reverent steps to the side of the bier. As he sank 
upon his knees his strength suddenly left him and 
he felt as though his hold upon life were slipping 
away. But with it went his burden of sin and sor- 
row, leaving behind a blessed peace such as he had 
never known before. 

“Elizabeth — dear saint in heaven — pray for me!” 
he murmured. 

His head sank down until his forehead touched 
her hand. 

Suddenly the intense stillness was broken by a 
thrilling cry from the outer edge of the circle. 


TANNHAUSER, KNIGHT OF SONG 171 


“A miracle! a miracle !” said a voice. 

Wolfram pushed his way gently to his friend’s 
side. In his hand was the Pope’s staff — and it had 
budded and brought forth green leaves! 

“See the sign which God hath sent!” he said in 
hushed tones. “It is a token that all your sins are 
forgiven.” 

Tannhauser’s face brightened into a glorious 
smile, but he uttered no sound. Instead, his head 
fell forward again until it was pillowed by Eliza- 
beth’s white arm. The way-worn pilgrim had 
ended his journey. The Knight of Song had heard 
the harmony of true love sung by a celestial choir. 
His wandering steps had been guided by the faith 
of one steadfast soul into the ways of peace. 


The Master Singers 

(Die Meister singer von Numb erg) 

Y OU and I have just read of a song contest 
which ended sadly; so I know we shall be 
glad to read about another which ended in 
quite different fashion. But how that was, I can- 
not tell you beforehand. You must follow the 
story for yourself. 

At the time when the knights were glad to be 
known as minstrels — or “minnesingers,” as they 
were called in Germany — the plain citizens and 
tradespeople were likewise interested in the art of 
song-writing. Sometimes they formed musical so- 
cieties, or guilds, which laid down certain rules 
and offered prizes; and any one was at liberty to 
try for these prizes, provided he obeyed all the 
rules. 

The quaint old city of Nuremberg was one of 
the chief music centres of the day, being widely 
noted for its guilds and contests. One of the lead- 
ing societies was composed entirely of tradespeople, 
such as the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick- 
maker, and every fellow became so filled with the 
spirit of the times that he couldn’t sharpen a knife 

172 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


173 


or blow a bellows without keeping time with his 
feet and trying to whistle a brand new tune in the 
doing of it! In fact, Hans Sachs, the genial old 
cobbler, was perpetually hammering out new ditties 
with lusty blows upon his leather, so that many of 
his verses are known to this day. 

The rules of this guild, I am telling you about, 
were somewhat odd. When a person composed a 
certain number of tunes he was called a singer. 
When he could compose the words to fit a given 
piece of music, he was called a poet. And when 
he could write both words and music he was given 
the title of Master Singer, spelled in capital letters, 
and mightily proud was he of this distinction! Of 
course, the music sung before this society had to 
conform to set principles which they believed right. 
But this was the great trouble with such societies; 
for while they fostered much song- writing, very lit- 
tle of it was original or different from the tweedle- 
dum, tweedle-dee which had gone before. 

Nevertheless, the citizens of Nuremberg were 
quite vainglorious over their guild, and believed it 
turned out the finest singers in the land. Its yearly 
contests were widely attended, and great was the 
rivalry each year to secure the chief prize, which 
was the title of Master Singer. 

But great as had been the contests of the past, 
the excitement was increased tenfold upon a day 


174 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


when the leading goldsmith of the city, Veit Pog- 
ner by name, announced a special prize for the com- 
ing contest. He said that he would give his for- 
tune to the winner and also bestow upon him the 
hand of his daughter Eva. But one proviso was 
made to this generous offer: the suitor must be to 
some extent suitable to Eva herself. By this means 
Herr Pogner hoped not only to bring out new and 
great musicians at the contest, but also to wed his 
daughter only to a Master Singer — upon which last 
his heart had been set. 

Eva herself had held quite different ideas on the 
subjects of music and marriage. A light-hearted 
and somewhat coquettish girl, her pretty head had 
been interested in many other things besides the 
monotonous singing of the butcher and the baker, 
or the pompous airs of the dried-up little town clerk, 
Sixtus Beckmesser, who had long aspired in secret 
for her favour. 

It must be confessed, indeed, that Eva was not 
always as sedate as she might be. On the day 
when our story opens, she had attended church very 
dutifully, but her eyes had wandered from her 
hymn-book more than once despite the energetic 
nudges of her maid Magdalen. The secret of 
Eva’s inattention was revealed at the close of the 
service when, as they turned to leave the church, a 
handsome young knight stepped forward. His 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


175 


name was Walter von Stolzen, and although he 
lived in an adjoining province, this was not the first 
time he had sought speech with the pretty Eva. 

To-day he had hastened to church to see her and 
ask her a momentous question. He had heard some 
rumours of her father’s plan to wed her to a Mas- 
ter Singer and it had filled his heart with wild un- 
rest. 

“A word with you, I beseech,” he said to Eva 
in a low tone as she and her maid drew near where 
he stood. 

“Magdalen, I have forgotten my kerchief,” said 
Eva, turning to the maid. “Will you not see if it 
is in the pew?” 

The maid went in search of the missing article 
and presently returned with it. 

“Oh, I am so careless!” exclaimed her mistress. 
“I had a little scarf-pin on, when I came in. See 
if I have dropped it thereabouts.” 

Magdalen went and after some little time she 
came back with the pin. 

“Thank you. You are a good girl,” said Eva. 
“Now if you will find where I have left my prayer- 
book, I think we will be quite ready to start.” 

The maid returned to the pew a third time, and 
when she brought the book, her mistress appeared 
immensely relieved. So did the handsome young 
knight, for, as you may guess, he had been making 


176 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


the most of these moments. The question which 
had so troubled him and which he had found time 
to ask Eva was this: 

“Has your father promised your hand in mar- 
riage?” 

“Yes,” said the mischievous Eva; but seeing how 
cast down her reply made the young man, she 
added, “but the bridegroom has not yet been 
chosen.” 

“Not chosen? How can you be promised else?” 

Eva laughed teasingly, but as the maid would 
soon return she told him in a few hurried words 
about the contest of song. 

“It is to be held to-morrow,” she ended, “and 
whoever is declared the victor and Master Singer 
will also win my hand — so my father says.” 

The little light in her eyes as she added the last 
words would have set Walter’s heart still farther 
at rest, if he had seen it ; but as it was, his first keen 
anxiety had given way to a yet keener interest in 
the contest of the morrow. 

“Tell me farther of the singing,” he said entreat- 
ingly; “for you know I must needs take part in it. 
My whole happiness hangs upon the result!” 

Eva felt her cheeks grow red. However the 
maid had come back for the third time, and she saw 
no excuse to tarry longer. 

“Magdalen,” she said, “this gentleman — one of 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


177 


my father’s friends — has heard about the song 
tournament to-morrow. Can you tell him any- 
thing about it?” And Eva gave the young man 
a smile of encouragement and left the church. 

Now Magdalen was not so blind as her mistress 
thought. She had seen the knight on other occa- 
sions and had liked his face and manner. “ That’s 
a good match!” she had whispered within herself. 
To-day she had gone back to the pew willingly 
enough, for her mistress wished it. Besides, was 
not David the sexton back there? And David was 
a likely lad himself, albeit he was somewhat awk- 
ward. 

Magdalen did not tarry long after her mistress. 
She gave the knight a swift look out of her black 
eyes and said: 

“There’s David — he that’s the sexton. Go ask 
him about the contest and tell him Magdalen sent 
you. Belike he can tell you all about it.” She 
then curtseyed and hastened after Eva. 

Without more ado the knight went in search of 
the sexton. David was easily found, for he had 
seen the handsome stranger talking with Magdalen 
and his own jealous interest had been aroused. But 
when Walter greeted him courteously and stated 
his errand, David grinned and pulled at a shock 
of sandy hair. 

“Oho, my master!” quoth he, “so you would 


178 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


thrum a harp with the best of them to-morrow! 
But know you the rules?” 

“No, I do not,” answered Walter a trifle impa- 
tiently, “and that is what I would learn, an it please 
you.” 

“Ah, but the rules are the chief thing, good sir! 
They are not to be learned in a moment, and they 
are more important than the song itself. No one 
can be a Master Singer unless he knows the rules 
by heart. I have been learning both cobbling and 
singing from Hans Sachs, the shoemaker, and I do 
assure you, sir, it is no easy task.” 

“But can you tell me some of these rules?” per- 
sisted Walter. 

“That can I, as far as I’ve gone,” answered 
David. “You take your harp so, and hold it so , 
and you thrum a chord with your thumb sticking 
up in the air like this. Then you thrust one knee 
out in advance of the other until you go through 
your first measure, which must have so many beats 
and pauses.” 

“But what has that to do with the music?” cried 
Walter, almost in despair. 

“Oh, everything, I guess!” said David; “only 
that’s about as far as I’ve studied. But I’ll tell you 
what to do. This very day they are going to hold 
an examination here in this chapel. You stay and 
apply for admission into the guild. Then you will 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


179 


see the rules you will have to follow. Here come 
the ’prentices now to get the chairs in readiness.” 

As he spoke a number of young men came in and 
began pushing a curtained platform out into the 
middle of the room. Around it they placed benches 
and chairs. 

“ That is the marker’s box,” said David, point- 
ing to the platform. 

“What is it for?” asked Walter. 

“Why the marker sits inside, while the singing 
is going on, and marks up the mistakes on a slate. 
When a singer has seven marks against him, the 
marker declares he is outsung and outdone.” 

The astonished knight was about to ask other 
questions when the door opened and members of 
the guild began to arrive. Among the first were 
Herr Pogner the goldsmith and Sixtus Beckmes- 
ser the town clerk. Beckmesser was to be marker 
and his usual sense of importance was much in- 
creased by the fact. He swelled out his thin chest 
and strutted grandly by the goldsmith’s side, tell- 
ing him of his own aspirations in the coming con- 
test. Beckmesser was bald-headed and a widower 
who had seen the best side of fifty years, yet he felt 
that Eva would be doing well if she got him , es- 
pecially if his dignity as town clerk was heightened 
by that of Master Singer. But when he saw Wal- 
ter step forward and greet the goldsmith, who re- 


180 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


ceived him kindly, and begin to ask questions about 
the contest, Beckmesser ’s face grew glum, and he 
inwardly resolved that if this young fellow tried 
to enter as his rival, there would be plenty of marks 
against him on the marker’s slate. 

Hans Sachs the cobbler and all the other mem- 
bers of the guild now having taken their places, the 
roll was called by Beckmesser. Then Herr Pog- 
ner arose and stated the terms of the contest for 
the ensuing day, and repeated his offer to give his 
fortune and daughter to the winner of the prize. 
He continued: 

“It is our purpose this day to enter candidates 
for the contest. So I have the pleasure of present- 
ing one who has but now arrived and who hands me 
good letters from friends of mine in the neighbour- 
ing state of Franconia. His name is Walter von 
Stolzen.” 

Walter stood forward, and the members of the 
guild eyed him solemnly. 

“Who taught you the art of music?” asked one. 

“Nature has been my teacher,” answered the 
young man modestly. “I have heard her voice in 
the rustling leaves, the babbling brook, and the 
singing birds.” 

“Humph!” said Beckmesser. “But who has 
taught you the rules?” 

“I have known very few rules save only such as 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


181 


were taught me by Walter von der Vogelweide.” 

“A good master!” said the genial Hans Sachs. 

“But long since dead! So what could he know 
of our rules?” grumbled Beckmesser. 

After further questions and quibbling on the part 
of the members, they agreed to give the knight 
a trial and judge .for themselves. So Beckmesser 
climbed into his curtained platform with alacrity, 
and Walter was asked to begin his song. 

Walter did so, singing a sweet tender melody of 
his own, which he had undoubtedly composed to 
the accompaniment of the whispering winds. For 
while it was beautiful and original it paid no at- 
tention whatever to the artificial rules of the guild. 
Before he had sung two measures, Beckmesser 
thrust his head out of the curtain crying, 

“Stop, stop! you are outsung and outdone!” 

And the clerk showed a slate covered with marks. 

“You should have let him finish his song,” said 
Hans Sachs. “For my part, I thought it had great 
merit.” 

“No one asked for your opinion,” said the clerk 
rudely. “If you do not know more than that about 
singing, you would better stick to your last and 
finish that pair of shoes you promised me to-mor- 
row.” 

Hans Sachs laughed good-naturedly, but insisted 
that the singer be allowed to finish. Others took 


182 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


up the argument, and Walter finally ended the 
song, though amid some confusion. 

But the verdict at the last, given with much sol- 
emn shaking of the heads, fell like lead upon Wal- 
ter’s hopes. 

“Outsung and outdone!” they said. 

So Walter was denied membership in the guild, 
and the chance of winning Eva’s hand seemed slim 
indeed. 

The only member who had been friendly to the 
young knight was Hans Sachs. This jolly cobbler 
lived just across the street from the goldsmith — 
his modest shop standing in sharp contrast to Herr 
Pogner’s stately mansion. 

That same evening while David the apprentice 
was keeping shop during his master’s absence, a 
woman came cautiously out of the side gate of the 
mansion with a basket on her arm, and approached 
him. 

“Good-evening, David,” she said. 

“Good-evening, Lena,” he answered, for it was 
Magdalen the maid. “What have you got in your 
basket?” 

“Look and see,” she said, tipping the lid. 

What he saw made his eyes grow large. There 
were cookies and doughnuts and pretzels so tempt- 
ing that he at once forgot his own late supper. 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


183 


“Who are they for?” he asked. 

“Let me ask you a question first. How did it 
go with the young knight to-day?” 

“Why, marry, he was declared outdone and out- 
sung.” 

“Are you sure? Didn’t you help him and teach 
him the rules as I told you to?” 

“Marry, that did I. But he didn’t sing my way 
and the judges — ” 

“A plague upon you and the judges!” exclaimed 
the maid much disturbed. “I will just take my 
cookies back home.” And away she flounced, leav- 
ing David staring open-mouthed at the vanishing 
dainties. 

Some other ’prentices who had been hiding be- 
hind the corner no sooner saw David’s discomfiture 
than they raised a shout and began to make all man- 
ner of fun at his expense. They were a merry lot 
of rogues — these ’prentices — and lost no chance 
when their masters’ backs were turned to get into 
mischief. Now as they began to dance around 
David he lost his temper and, willing to vent his 
rage upon some one, he fell to fighting the whole 
crowd. The noise was becoming uproarious when 
suddenly a stout man with ruddy cheeks strode 
briskly round the corner. 

“Here you boys!” he shouted. “Be off home, 
every mother’s son of you! And David, if I catch 


184 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


you fighting out here in the street again, you will 
have to hunt other shoes to cobble.” 

“They began it, sir!” whined David, while the 
other boys lost no time in taking to their heels. 

“That makes no difference,” said Hans Sachs. 
“Get in with you, and help me finish those shoes for 
Herr Beckmesser.” 

David scratched his head ruefully, but obeyed his 
master; and soon the light streamed out from the 
little shop, and the cobbler’s lusty blows were heard 
along the street, keeping time to a song of his own 
making. 

Across the way there was one heart that was much 
cast down. Eva had learned from Magdalen the 
result of Walter’s trial, and so she now approached 
her father in regard to the next day’s festival. She 
did not, of course, mention the knight’s name, but 
she asked about those who were to sing, and tifnidly 
suggested that perhaps she need not marry a Mas- 
ter Singer after all, if he did not suit either of them. 
But her father seemed more determined than ever, 
though he could not help wondering secretly, if she 
had heard about the young knight. 

As she left her father, Eva heard the cobbler 
pounding away, and so she determined to find out 
if he knew anything about the contest. Hans 
Sachs had just dismissed his apprentice for the 
night when Eva tripped lightly to the door and 
looked in. 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


185 


“A good-evening to you, old Peg-at-work,” said 
she saucily.’ 

“Why, ’tis my little Eva!” he exclaimed, his 
broad face smiling a welcome ; for she was a special 
pet of his. 

“What makes you work so — pound, pound, 
pound! — so that your neighbours cannot sleep?” 

“I am finishing two pairs of shoes : one for your 
little feet to wear to-morrow at the festival; and 
the other for the worthy Sixtus Beckmesser who 
aspires to outsing us all.” 

“Oh, he can’t do that, you know!” said Eva, 
laughing, but tossing her head uneasily. “Before 
we’d let him do that, you and I, why I would get 
you to mount the stump and outsing him. And 
then just think what a nice old husband you would 
be!” 

Hans Sachs laughed heartily at her banter. He 
had known her all her life and was used to her 
ways by now. But he decided to set a trap and 
find out just where her affections lay. 

“You have already had one narrow escape to- 
day,” he said shrewdly. “There was a likely-look- 
ing young gallant up before the guild trying to 
sing. His name was Walter something-or-other, 
and he wanted to enter the contest to-morrow. But 
bless you! he couldn’t sing — and it’s a good thing 
for you that he couldn’t. I’ll warrant he’s an idle 


186 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


fellow that will never amount to a side of sole- 
leather !” 

“What do you know about him?” burst forth Eva 
indignantly. “I’ll warrant your stupid crowd 
never gave him half a chance to sing. You ought 
to be ashamed of yourselves !” 

But just then she caught sight of the broad grin 
upon the cobbler’s face and realised she was betray- 
ing herself. Her cheeks reddened, and she turned 
and fled across the street, while Hans Sachs chuck- 
led in great glee over the success of his scheme. 

This was not the only game the shoemaker played 
that evening, as you shall presently see. For just 
then Walter came along the street looking for Eva. 
He had found opportunity to send word through 
Magdalen that he was coming, so Eva was on the 
lookout for him. But fearful lest her father should 
see her leaving the house, she had changed dresses 
with her maid; and it was as Magdalen that she 
now hastened out to j oin her lover. 

But Hans Sachs’ keen eyes, right across the way, 
were not to be deceived. He recognised both the 
young people at once; and as they drew under the 
shade of a linden tree that grew near his door, he 
was able to hear most of their words. He heard 
Walter tell Eva of his ill success that day, and how 
he would not be able to compete on the morrow be- 
cause of a lot of musty old rules. Walter, in fact, 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


187 


was in despair and he now proposed the only way 
out that seemed possible to him. 

“You must go away with me, dear Eva, this very 
night,” he urged. “We will get the good minister 
on the farther side of the town to marry us, and I 
have horses and coach in waiting. By the time the 
sun rises on that contest we will be miles away from 
Nuremberg and nearing my old home in Fran- 
conia. Will you not come?” 

Eva hesitated. She loved her father and did not 
want to bring him sorrow. But then that odious 
Beckmesser, or some other man who might become 
Master Singer! — Yes, she would go to the ends of 
the world with her dear Walter, she said. 

Hans Sachs shook his head when he heard this. 
These foolish children must be held in check. So 
he arose and made as though he were opening the 
shutter of his door, at the same time setting his 
lamp in such a way that it threw a broad beam of 
light across the street. Walter and Eva would 
have to cross the lighted space, and this he knew 
they would not attempt, lest they should be seen. 

The cobbler was unexpectedly aided in his ruse 
by the appearance of Beckmesser. The town clerk 
had decided to serenade Eva in the most approved 
style, by way of proving his devotion and also show- 
ing what he could do on the morrow. 

While the two young people crouched still farther 


188 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


behind the tree, Beckmesser struck his harp vigor- 
ously and cleared his throat with a loud ahem ! pre- 
paratory to launching forth upon his ditty. But 
before he could get started, Hans Sachs began 
pounding again upon his last, whack, whack, whack ! 
to the tune of a hearty cobbling-song. 

“By all the powers!” groaned the clerk disgust- 
edly. Then he called to the shoemaker, “Here, 
you, Hans Sachs! Don’t you know you are dis- 
turbing the peace? Why don’t you do all your 
work in the daytime?” 

“Oh, I’m just working a little to-night to finish 
up that pair of shoes you were so anxious to have 
to-morrow,” retorted Hans Sachs; “and I always 
sing at my work. It makes it go better.” 

Thereupon he began in a louder voice than ever. 

Beckmesser was at his wits’ end. He had sent 
word to Eva that he was coming to serenade her. 
Now he was afraid, in his conceit, that she would 
mistake the cobbler’s song for his own. Just then 
Magdalen appeared at an upper window in Eva’s 
dress. Beckmesser waved frantically to her and 
threw a kiss. Then he turned to the cobbler. 

“I’ll tell you what, Hans Sachs, you needn’t 
mind about those shoes, to-morrow. I’m afraid the 
neighbours will make complaint against you.” 

“No, indeed,” replied the cobbler, “they don’t 
mind about my singing. They say it soothes 
them.” 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


189 


“Well, speaking of singing,” persisted the clerk, 
“perhaps you would like to hear my new song that 
I have just composed and intend to sing to-mor- 
row. Shall I go over it for you?” 

“On one condition, and that is, to allow me to 
make note of every error by tapping upon my shoes. 
Thus I can criticise you and get my work done at 
the same time.” 

“Agreed,” said the clerk, and began his song. 
But he was so nervous and irritated that his mis- 
takes became more and more frequent. The cob- 
bler’s taps became hammering, and the hammering 
a constant clattering, while Beckmesser tried in 
vain to sing against the noise. Finally the uproar 
became so loud that windows were opened all along 
the street to see what was the trouble. 

David was one of the first ones to look out upon 
the scene. His jealous eyes saw Beckmesser sing- 
ing or rather shouting toward the window where 
Magdalen stood, and his rage was kindled in an 
instant. Springing from the window to the ground 
he seized the unlucky clerk and began to beat him 
soundly with a cudgel. The other apprentices, al- 
ways ready for a fight, came rushing forth and, tak- 
ing sides, joined in a general fisticuff. 

Walter and Eva tried to take advantage of the 
tumult to effect their escape, but Hans Sachs was 
too quick for them. Pretending to mistake Eva 


190 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


for Magdalen he thrust her toward her own home, 
whose door was just then opened, and Herr Pog- 
ner, crying, “Lena!” pulled her within and closed 
the door. At the same moment, Hans Sachs 
dragged Walter into his own shop just as the sound 
of the approaching night-watch was heard. As if 
by magic the street was cleared of brawlers, and 
when the watchman sang in a sonorous voice, “Ten 
o’clock and all’s well!” there was nothing in sight 
to dispute his assertion. 

The morning of the festival dawned clear and 
bright. The friendly sun streaming through the 
open door into the cobbler’s shop seemed to give 
promise of a perfect day. The cobbler was up 
early for he had a good many singing rules to look 
over before the time of the contest. While he was 
busily turning over the pages of a huge book David 
came sneaking in bearing a basket which looked 
suspiciously like the one his Lena had carried the 
evening before. Seating himself in a distant cor- 
ner he began to busy himself with its contents, all 
the while watching his master with furtive glances. 
But Sachs was so intent upon his book that he paid 
no heed to his apprentice. This also made David 
uncomfortable. He thought his master was angry 
with him for the brawling of the night before; so 
he now tried to make his peace by off ering some of 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


191 


the dainties to the cobbler. They were good-na- 
turedly refused, Hans Sachs telling the young man 
to keep them for himself to eat at the festival. 
Then after hearing him sing his morning song, 
David was given his freedom for the day and joy- 
fully departed. 

Presently another person entered the shop, and 
this time the shoemaker looked up quickly. 

“Why good-morrow, Sir Walter. Did you sleep 
well?” he asked kindly. 

“Aye, what sleep I had was good, and thank 
you,” replied the knight. “How was it with 
you?” 

“Oh, so, so! There were so many serenades and 
lovers’ meetings, the early part of the evening, that 
I lost some of my rest — but not enough to hurt.” 

The young knight smiled at his banter, then re- 
marked : 

“I had a marvellous sweet dream.” 

“Pray tell it to me.” 

“I am not able to do that, for it came to me as a 
song.” 

“Then sing it,” urged the cobbler. 

“What is the good of my singing?” replied Wal- 
ter moodily. “ ’Tis not for me to sing upon this 
day above all others when my song might have been 
of some service.” 

“Tut, tut, my friend,” said Hans Sachs. “You 


192 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


must not take things so hardly. We may yet find 
some way of making one of your songs count. Now 
do you sing me this one and I will mark down the 
errors in it, and show you why they are errors. 
Thus you will soon learn, perchance, how to sing 
a Master Song.” 

“But that soon will be too late.” 

“Come let us have the song.” 

So while the cobbler took paper and pen and 
prepared to set down the words as well as the mis- 
takes, Walter began to sing: 

“The morning dawned with rosy light; 

The scented air — 

With flowers rare — 

A vision of beauty rose to my sight; 

A garden a-gleam 
This was my dream!” 

“Good, good!” said Hans Sachs heartily. “That 
is all right. Now you must be careful to have the 
next stanza just like that; the same number of 
measures and beats.” 

Walter began again: 

“There in the garden stood a tree, 

A wondrous sight 
Of rich delight: 

Its boughs full-fruited, wide and free, 

All golden did seem 
In this my dream!” 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


193 


“Upon my word!” cried the cobbler delightedly. 
“You have got the beginning of a rare good song 
there! And it conforms to all the rules! Now if 
you will complete it as well as you have begun it, 
and be careful to keep the measures just as I have 
set them down, you will win the next contest you 
try.” 

“But I have forgotten the rest of my dream,” 
said Walter. 

“Never mind. Perhaps it will come to you 
later,” replied the cobbler. “You have made a 
fine start.” And giving him a few other sugges- 
tions, he then bade his guest come into the living- 
rooms and don some festival finery. Walter 
obeyed, though he felt anything but merry over 
the occasion. 

While they were absent from the room, who 
should come in but Beckmesser. His vanity had 
led him to come after his new shoes, if perchance 
they were ready; and now seeing that the shop was 
empty he began to prowl about to see what he 
might discover. Soon his eye lighted upon the 
fresh copy of verses w T hich Hans Sachs had left be- 
hind on the cobbler’s bench. He read them, saw 
their value, and decided to pocket them to use for 
himself. But the cobbler returning just then upset 
him somewhat, and he resolved to brazen it out. 

“I thought you said you were not going to take 


194 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


part in the contest,” said the clerk blusteringly. 

“I meant it. I am not,” replied Hans Sachs 
quietly. 

“But I have proof that you are.” 

“What proof?” 

“Why, this poem I have found on your bench.” 

“Hum. Then how did it get into your pocket?” 

“That doesn’t matter. You were intending to 
use it against me,” sputtered Beckmesser, growing 
more and more red in the face. 

“No, I wasn’t going to use it against you. I re- 
peat, I am not going to sing.” 

Beckmesser looked at him a moment in a sly way 
and then suddenly began to wheedle. 

“You and I have always been good friends, Herr 
Sachs. I pray you to forgive me if I said any- 
thing hasty. I expect I shall need a good many 
shoes this winter. Now have you any objection to 
my using this song?” 

“No, I haven’t any objection,” replied Hans 
Sachs with a smile. 

“And you won’t claim it as yours?” 

“No, I won’t claim it as mine.” 

“You are a good-hearted friend!” cried the clerk, 
fairly hugging him in his delight, and then capering 
out of the door with his verses. 

“And you are an evil-hearted fool!” said Sachs, 
looking after him. “But the pit you fall into will 
be of your own digging.” 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


195 


The cobbler knew that the clerk would never be 
able to find the right tune to fit the words, and 
that he was liable to forget even the words. So he 
felt no uneasiness when Beckmesser took them 
away with him. 

The next visitor to his workshop was Eva, look- 
ing very winsome in her festival attire of white. 
She had come over to see what had become of Wal- 
ter, -though she had made another excuse for her 
errand. 

“Herr Sachs,” she said, answering his jovial 
greeting, “I came over to see what was the matter 
with one of these shoes you finished for me last 
night. It does not feel comfortable.” 

She placed one small foot upon a rest, and the 
cobbler knelt to see what was the matter. But he 
did not discover it until Walter, dressed in the rich 
garb of a knight, entered the room. 

“Ah, that is where the shoe pinches!” he ex- 
claimed quietly; and willing to allow the young 
people a few minutes to themselves he took off the 
shoe and went chuckling to his last, where he began 
to hammer furiously. But seeing that the two oth- 
ers were rather shy in his presence he paused and 
looked up. 

“Mistress Eve,” he said, “I take back what I 
said about this young man not being able to sing. 
He sang me a fine song awhile ago, but the last part 


196 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


was lacking. Perhaps he will sing it for you 
through to the end.” 

Thus encouraged and looking Eva in the face 
Walter began his song again. He sang the first 
two stanzas just as the cobbler had set them down; 
then gaining inspiration from his sweetheart’s pres- 
ence he added a beautiful third part filled with the 
hopes of love and desires of fame : — 

“Lingered the stars in dance of delight 
And rested there 
Upon the hair 

Of a maiden lovely, star-bedight ! 

The light of day 
Had twofold ray — 

“Her eyes — bright suns — on me shone down 
With splendour sweet. 

In bliss complete 

I saw her take her heavenly crown — 

Both Fame and Love 
Came from above! 

Ah, blest was I with joy extreme 
In Love’s sweet dream!” 

“Hark, child!” exclaimed Sachs to Eva, who had 
been listening as if enchanted. “That is a true 
Master Song! Come, put on your shoe! Doesn’t 
it feel better? You don’t hear songs like that every 
day, even in Nuremberg!” 

Rut Eva was so overcome with her emotions that 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


197 


she leaned her head upon the good shoemaker’s 
shoulder and burst into tears. 

“Tut, tut!” said he. “You know that the song 
wasn’t as bad as all that! And as for you, master 
poet, rest easy about the contest! Just put your- 
self in my hands and we will see if we cannot still 
show the guild a few points about singing. Hark 
you, David!” (to his apprentice who had entered 
while the song was in progress) “bear witness with 
us that this is an original song belonging to Sir 
Walter and to none other. But you cannot bear 
witness, being an apprentice; so I herewith make 
you a journeyman!” 

He accompanied these words with a sound slap 
on the ear, which was the quaint custom of releas- 
ing apprentices, and David overjoyed thanked him 
and hopped first on one foot and then on the other 
across the street to tell Lena his good fortune. 

We will now leave the shoemaker’s shop, where 
so many things have happened, and go with the 
throng of merrymakers to a broad grassy meadow 
lying just outside of Nuremberg. The whole town 
seems to be wending its way there, the ’prentices 
and their lasses, ribbon-decked, dancing on ahead, 
the burghers and their wives walking more sedately 
in the rear. These annual festivals were in fact 
noted for miles around; and the news of Herr Pog- 


198 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


ner’s offer on the present event was bringing rec- 
ord-breaking crowds. 

Before the singing began, a dance was held upon 
the green. In and out the merry parties weaved in 
May-pole fashion until a cry arose, “The Master 
Singers! the Master Singers!” and everybody fell 
back respectfully to make way for the members of 
the guild. Two by two they filed in, looking very 
important and taking seats reserved for them upon 
a stage. 

Last of all came Herr Pogner, with his daughter 
leaning upon his arm, and Hans Sachs and Walter. 
You may be sure there were many curious glances 
directed toward the white-robed girl whose hand 
had been promised to the victor of the day, but she 
bore the ordeal bravely, albeit blushingly. The 
handsome knight walking along with the shoe- 
maker also came in for his share of attention, and 
“Who can he be?” was on many lips, especially 
those of the maidens. 

Hans Sachs was Master of Ceremonies for the 
day. He was one of the most widely beloved men 
in all Nuremberg town; so a hearty cheer went up 
as he came to the front of the platform to address 
the throng. In a neat little speech he told the pur- 
pose of the festival and spoke of the high regard 
in which the occasion had been held in the past. 
He spoke of the conditions governing the contest, 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


199 


and of the unusual prize offered by his esteemed 
fellow-townsman and neighbour to the victor of the 
day. At this there was still louder cheering by the 
crowd and still more blushing on the part of Eva. 
When the applause subsided, the speaker concluded 
his remarks by saying that the contest was now 
open to any one, and the first singer to present him- 
self would be listened to. 

As Hans Sachs ceased speaking, and the final 
applause ended, there was a tremendous craning of 
necks to see who would be the first candidate. With 
a bow and a smirk, Beckmesser lost no time in com- 
ing forward. He was dressed with fantastic care, 
and as he clambered painfully up the steps to the 
singer’s platform, people nudged one another and 
smiled. One pert young girl said to another, 
“What! that old fool?” and the other replied, 
“Wonder what his first wife would think of his 
capers?” 

However, the town clerk did not hear any of 
these and other comments, but began thrumming 
the harp he carried, by way of a prelude. Then he 
lifted up his voice and sang — and such singing! 
He had tried at the last moment to adapt a tune of 
his own to Walter’s poem. The tune did not suit 
the words, and moreover he had not had time to 
memorise them well — just as the shrewd cobbler 
had anticipated. He stumbled in the lines and 


200 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


tried to refresh his memory by looking slyly at the 
written copy he held in his harp hand. The result 
was a strange jumble of poem, song, and sense. 
So ludicrous was the ending that the people did not 
try to keep within bounds, but laughed aloud right 
in the unlucky singer’s face. 

Beckmesser was filled with shame and rage at the 
way his song had ended. Willing to put the blame 
upon some one else if he could, he threw the paper 
at Sachs’ feet exclaiming: 

“Well, at any rate, it was not my song! There 
is the man you have been ridiculing — your dear 
Hans Sachs!” 

The cobbler arose and quietly picked up the pa- 
per. 

“No,” he said, “this song is none of mine.” 

“Do you deny,” raged the other, “that it is your 
writing and I found it in your workshop?” 

“I do not deny it, but, as I told you, I will not 
claim it as mine ; for it is not.” 

Then seeing that the people, as well as Beck- 
messer, were interested in what he had to say, he 
turned to them and told them the true history of 
the song — how that a young knight had composed 
and sung it to him only that morning. He had 
merely written down the words which had later 
been seized upon by Beckmesser, who had now tried 
to fit them to a tune of his own. 


THE MASTER SINGERS 


201 


Beckmesser interrupted him here. He saw that 
he himself was standing upon very thin ice and it 
behooved him to bluster it out. 

“A pretty story this!” he cried. “The young 
knight of whom he speaks was publicly discredited 
before all our guild only yesterday. He does not 
know how to write such a song as I have sung!” 

“Thank Heaven that he doesn’t!” retorted Sachs, 
amid general laughter. In a moment he continued, 
“Now I crave the indulgence of every one here 
present. You have known me to be just with every 
man. All I ask of you is to be allowed to prove 
what I say. The true owner of this song is present 
here to-day and desires to sing it in the contest. 
Then you shall be the judge as to whether it be his 
or Beckmesser’s.” 

“Yes, yes; let him come forward!” came an an- 
swering shout. 

Hans Sachs turned and looked inquiringly at the 
members of the guild. They likewise nodded ap- 
proval. Indeed, they would hardly have dared do 
otherwise, even if they had been so disposed, in the 
face of the popular desire. Then the Master of 
Ceremonies beckoned to Walter, and every eye was 
fastened upon him while he rose, bowed graceful^ 
and walked toward the stage. As for Beckmesser 
he took advantage of the moment to slink away 
without waiting for his rival, and he was not seen 
again that day! 


202 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Before Walter began his song, Hans Sachs gave 
the paper to members upon the stage. 

“Masters,” he said, “I pray you note well this 
song — errors and all — and see if it be not indeed a 
Master Song!” 

During the most intense silence Walter opened 
his lips and began the refrain of the morning. The 
first two stanzas were sung even more sweetly than 
he had sung them before, while the third and 
fourth — not even known to the clerk — proved a 
marvellously fitting close. As the last notes of the 
harp died away to the thrill of his rich voice the 
audience, masters, burghers, ’prentices and all, 
stood for a moment spellbound. Then like the 
crashing of a mighty wave upon the shore the ap- 
plause broke. They shouted, they cried, they 
clapped their hands, they flung their hats into the 
air — even the most sedate of them — while their joy 
seemed to know no bounds. 

For the Master Song had been sung! the event 
to this music-loving people would go down into 
history. 

When order was in some measure restored Hans 
Sachs asked if there was another contestant. (He 
did not need to ask the verdict on the song.) No 
one else presented himself ; and Herr Pogner walk- 
ing forward publicly declared Walter von Stolzen 
a Master Singer and made him a member of the 
guild of Nuremberg. 



Walter began his song 






























































































































































THE MASTER SINGERS 


203 


“Personally, I am proud and delighted to wel- 
come you among us and proclaim you victor,” he 
said, genially, “and as to my daughter’s hand, I 
leave you to plead your cause with her. If she 
proves intractable — sing to her. That will win her 
if anything!” 

“I have already sung to her, and await my an- 
swer,” said Walter clearly. 

Her face radiant with rose-colour, which hut set 
off the sparkling light in her eyes, Eva approached 
her knight and placed the laurel wreath upon his 
head, as he knelt there on the step before her. 

And the people ? Once again they fairly eclipsed 
all their previous efforts at applauding. Finally 
it ended in a spontaneous note of admiration and 
love for Hans Sachs who had found this rare singer 
for them, and made all things come about as they 
should. 

“Hail, Sachs! Hans Sachs! Hail, Nurem- 
berg’s beloved Sachs!” they cried. 

And Eva and Walter, listening with tears of 
joy, felt that all this sea of sound could not express 
a hundredth part of the gratitude which welled up 
in their two happy hearts. 


Rienzi the Last of the Tribunes 

( Rienzi ) 

I N the days of Rome’s early greatness there were 
leaders chosen by the people who were called 
Tribunes. These Tribunes, though subject to 
the popular will, often had vast power, for they 
could make laws, declare war, and do other things 
that few kings, even, have had power to do. But 
the Tribunes passed away, in the course of cen- 
turies, and after the mighty Roman Empire had 
fallen, the people often had no real governing 
head. They were the prey of strong enemies with- 
out, and of fierce quarrels within. So, you may 
believe, their lot was not happy, nor their state 
prosperous. 

About the middle of the fourteenth century, 
Rome had fallen into the hands of several nobles, 
or barons, who fought among themselves and cared 
no whit for the rights of the common people. 
Chief among these barons were the rival houses of 
Orsini and Colonna. Each maintained strong 
retinues of armed men' and lived in fortified castles; 
and as there was no real government to hold them 
in check they became a menace to the whole city. 

204 - 


RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 205 


Shopkeepers hardly dared to open their places in 
broad daylight, lest they should be robbed. Mer- 
chants were afraid to send goods from one place 
to another, lest they should be seized. And the 
worst was that women and little children were in 
continual danger from the street brawls and sudden 
excursions of these cruel and lawless men. 

So you may see how desperate was the condition 
of things at Rome and how sadly they needed some 
one to restore peace and safety. Even the author- 
ity of the Pope was disregarded, and he had to flee 
for protection to the city of Avignon. 

But there was one young man, risen from the 
ranks of the people, who as he grew up was filled 
with noble ambition. He saw the distress of all 
his fellow-townsmen and he longed to avenge their 
wrongs and make the city free and prosperous as 
it was in the olden days. This desire was finally 
roused to a fever heat by a sad accident which hap- 
pened within his own family. His little brother, a 
beautiful child with curly hair and engaging ways, 
was playing one day in the open street when a 
small company of soldiers belonging to the Orsini 
house dashed by. They were met by others of the 
Colonna faction, and in one of their usual fierce 
fights the little boy was slain. Yet the young lord 
who had chanced to do this dreadful thing rode 
away without a word of regret. 


206 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


From that time forth Rienzi — for that was the 
name of the people’s champion — worked constantly 
among the people, striving to rouse them to action. 
His fiery eloquence, his earnestness, and the justice 
of the cause, brought him a constantly increasing 
band of followers, until at last he had practically 
all the common people secretly enlisted under his 
banner and only awaiting the signal to rise against 
the barons and regain their liberties. And the peo- 
ple loved their enthusiastic young leader. They 
were willing to follow him anywhere and give him 
any title he might see fit to assume. But he chose 
the simple name of “Tribune” in memory of the 
former Tribunes who had led the people; and his 
earnest prayer was that he might prove worthy of 
it. 

After the tragic death of his brother, Rienzi’s 
affections centred in a sister, Irene, a fair young 
girl just reaching womanhood, who was no less de- 
voted to her brother than he to her. A fine picture 
they made, sauntering along some quiet path to- 
gether, he with his dark hair and dreamy eyes, she 
with her light hair and smile like an imprisoned 
sunbeam. Rienzi, indeed, was a dreamer and 
would have liked nothing better than his books or 
a stroll like this by the side of a stream, had not 
the stern call of his country roused him to heroic 
things. But the fine stuff that dreamers are made 


RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 207 


of — a trusting confidence in all men — was the one 
thing which unsuited him for leadership. This, 
however, you will see for yourself as we go on with 
our story. 

While Irene was strolling along one day, she had 
the misfortune to attract the notice of one of the 
Orsini noblemen. He fell in love with her, but, 
knowing that she would scorn him, he did not at- 
tempt to win her in an honourable way. Instead, 
he planned to carry her away by force from the 
shelter of her own home! This was a wicked and 
audacious thing to do; but the fact that such plots 
had actually succeeded before shows how dreadful 
were the times when Rienzi lived. 

Accordingly, one dark night, an armed band 
stole quietly along under the shadow of the houses 
until they reached the one where dwelt Rienzi and 
his sister Irene. They were wise enough to choose 
a night when Rienzi was absent addressing the peo- 
ple, so Irene was left alone and helpless. Quickly 
placing their scaling-ladders to the windows of the 
house, they soon broke into it and seized the poor 
girl. Despite her frantic outcries and appeals for 
help, they were on the point of carrying her down 
the ladder and making good their escape, when a 
lucky intervention occurred. A young man bear- 
ing the arms of Colonna dashed up with a band of 
followers. Seeing his ancient foes, he lost no time 


208 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


in attacking them at the foot of the ladders. The 
Orsini, though taken by surprise, fought stoutly, 
and the noise of the conflict brought many people 
running to the scene. But meanwhile the leader 
of the Colonna forces found means to rescue the 
fainting girl and carry her to one side to a place of 
safety. 

Among those whom the tumult attracted was the 
Papal Legate. He came into the midst of the 
throng and besought them to cease fighting in the 
name of religion and of the church, since they paid 
no heed to the law. But the nobles laughed at him, 
and would probably have resumed the fight, had 
not a commanding voice cried out, “Hold!” 

It was Rienzi, who had just come. Addressing 
the people, who were his followers, he bade them 
respect the law; while he prayed the barons also 
to go quietly to their homes. The people cheered 
his words and drew back. The barons shrugged 
their shoulders at this champion of the people, and 
were fain to continue hostilities, but the company 
about Rienzi was now so large that they yielded 
and sheathed their weapons. But they agreed 
among themselves to meet on the morrow outside 
the city gates, where they could renew the contest 
without interruption. 

No sooner had the barons withdrawn than 
Rienzi’s followers began to urge him to do what 


RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 209 


he had so long been planning — strike a decisive 
blow against the barons and make the city free. 
Rienzi saw that this would be a good opportunity. 
He had heard the barons plan to withdraw outside 
the city. Now, when they went forth to fight on 
the morrow, why not close the gates against them, 
and not let them in again until they had sworn to 
obey the laws? 

So Rienzi was only too willing to fall in with the 
popular suggestion, for he perceived that the tem- 
per of the people was with him. In an impassioned 
speech he begged them to uphold him now ; to strike 
as one man for the freedom of the ancient city. 
Then he unfolded his plan to them. The next 
morning his banner should be unfurled and his 
trumpet should sound. Then let every man there 
present, and every neighbour of his, rally to the 
standard of liberty and peace! 

Rienzi’s speech was wildly applauded, and a 
unanimous support was pledged him. The crowd 
then dispersed, and Rienzi had opportunity, for 
the first time, to. learn the cause of the tumult. He 
found that the girl who had been rescued was his 
own sister. She had recovered from her fainting fit 
and was now leaning against her doorstep, where 
she was being tenderly watched over by a young 
man. 

“Irene! Adrian!” exclaimed Rienzi in alarm. 


210 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“All is well, dear brother,” replied the girl. 
“But had it not been for this chivalrous stranger, I 
fear it would have been terribly different. Some 
men of Orsini invaded our home and tried to carry 
me away, when this gentleman interfered. Our 
thanks are due to him.” 

“And they are given in overflowing measure, Ad- 
rian,” said Rienzi, extending his hand to the noble- 
man. “We owe you much.” 

Adrian of Colonna, in fact, was a boyhood friend 
of Rienzi, though public matters and a difference 
in station had long kept them apart. The noble- 
man flushed and laughed, declaring that the service 
was nothing. He was afraid indeed, he said, that 
the sight of his enemy moved him to battle before 
ever he saw there was a lovely maiden in distress. 
Here he laid his hand upon his heart and bowed 
gallantly. 

Meanwhile, Rienzi was troubled at heart. Real- 
ising that Adrian had heard his speech and there- 
fore knew his plans, he feared the cause was un- 
done. He swiftly decided to throw himself upon 
the generosity of the nobleman, whom he knew to 
be highly honourable, and he therefore asked him, 
for old friendship’s sake, not to reveal anything he 
had heard that night. 

Adrian at first hesitated. One word from him 
would put the barons — who had laughed at Rienzi’s 


RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 211 


pretensions and did not suspect his strength — on 
their guard. What should he do? 

Rienzi saw his hesitancy. “It is not alone for 
myself or my people that I ask it,” he pleaded; “it 
is for Rome — the place of our fathers for genera- 
tion upon generation. Let us restore the old gov- 
ernment and the old glory to our country. Let its 
cause plead with you!” 

“And let me also add my word of entreaty,” said 
Irene timidly. “You have done so much for us al- 
ready. Can we ask this one thing more?” 

“I consent!” said the young man impetuously. 
‘‘For my country — and for you!” 

Irene blushed and her eyes could not conceal the 
little ray of pleasure that came into them. The 
young nobleman saw the gleam and his heart beat 
with a strange thrill, such as he had never known 
before. It seemed to him in a moment that he 
would give all he possessed — houses and lands and 
titles — if he could but call up that glance at his 
every coming. 

The next morning the whole city was early astir. 
The barons and their adherents had withdrawn to 
a plain outside the walls as they had agreed. 
Rienzi and his followers meanwhile were busied 
with warlike preparations. Armed men ran hither 
and thither about the streets greeting other citi- 


212 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


zens. And it was seen that whenever a shopkeeper 
or craftsman was approached, he straightway for- 
sook whatever he was doing and hastened to arm 
himself also and fall in line. 

When the sun was well up in the heavens the 
sound of a trumpet was heard. It blew the call of 
Rienzi; and straightway through the streets came 
the steady tread of marching feet. At the head of 
a large body of determined-looking men rode 
Rienzi, clad in the glittering armour of a Tribune. 
Before the great square of the Capitol he turned 
and addressed the populace telling them to be va- 
liant upon this day and stand for the honour and 
freedom of their beloved city and for their own 
security. Then giving orders, he posted men at 
the gates and upon the walls, where they awaited 
the return of the barons. 

It was really an easy victory. For when the 
barons came back wearied and weakened by the 
fighting among themselves, they found the gates 
so securely barred and the walls so strongly de- 
fended that they were forced to make terms. They 
agreed to respect the laws and recognise Rienzi as 
Tribune, before ever they were allowed to enter or 
continue to their homes. 

You may be sure this defeat sat ill with the 
haughty lords who had despised the common peo- 
ple and sneered at their champion. But they saw 



I 


At the head of a large body of men rode Rienzi 



















































































































RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 213 


it would not do to employ force, as they were greatly 
outnumbered. So they decided to plot secretly 
against the Tribune while outwardly they bowed 
to his authority. 

Accordingly when Rienzi held his first public 
audience, a few days later, in the audience-chamber 
of the Capitol, the barons were present, as well as 
ambassadors from foreign courts and many other 
dignitaries. It was an imposing assemblage worthy 
of a king. Messengers were despatched hither and 
thither with orders. Pages stood in waiting. 
Heralds announced each person who had business 
with the Tribune. Couriers, dust-covered, strode 
in to bring good news: one reported that the 
brigands had been suppressed ; another, that all the 
roads were safe ; another, that peace was an assured 
fact in all the country round about, and people 
were blessing the new Tribune’s rule. 

This news was received with great joy by all the 
court, with the exception of the barons. They saw 
in it a death-blow to their own power, and knew 
that so long as the Tribune held sway, the people 
would be more than a match for them. So they 
resolved to lose no time in putting Rienzi to death. 
That very day they met together — putting aside 
their own animosities for the time being — and laid 
their plans. Adrian who was present indignantly 
upbraided them, telling them they were breaking 


214 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


their word; but he was not heeded. Instead, his 
own father, who was head of the house of Colonna, 
asked him if he were going to turn against them, 
his own flesh and blood. Hot words rushed to 
Adrian’s lips. He was on the point of replying 
that his country’s welfare came first; but the barons 
did not pause to listen. They went in search of 
Rienzi, each with a dagger under his cloak. 

Rienzi had been addressing the people from a 
gallery in the Capitol, when of a sudden Adrian 
ran swiftly from behind a row of pillars and whis- 
pered to him, 

“Be on your guard! There are those who seek 
your life!” Then he darted away. 

He did not have time to say more, for the group 
of conspirators were even then drawing near. They 
surrounded Rienzi under pretence of asking him 
some question with regard to the new government. 
Then quickly they drew their daggers and each one 
struck him in turn. 

But the Tribune had been too vigilant for them. 
Suspecting treachery on their part he had taken 
the precaution to don a coat of mail, under his robe 
of state, and this turned aside all their blows. 

Those below who had seen their dastardly attack 
cried aloud for vengeance. 

“Seize them! Kill them! Murderers! Vil- 
lains!” resounded on all sides; and in a moment the 


RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 215 


gallery was thronged with excited men, led by 
Cecco a burly blacksmith, and the conspirators were 
disarmed and bound. They were thrown into sep- 
arate dungeons, and so fierce was the rage against 
them that they were glad to hear the heavy doors 
clang, for they had been afraid of being torn to 
pieces. 

As it was, their hours seemed numbered, for the 
people surged about the chair of state whereon 
Rienzi had now taken his seat, and clamoured loudly 
for the execution of the barons. Rienzi also was 
justly indignant. He did not care so much for the 
attack made against his own person as for the bar- 
ons’ total want of honour and disregard of the 
state’s welfare. He saw that they were working 
for their own interests to the ruin of every one else, 
and that the people’s new-found liberty would be 
safer if they were put to death. So he was about 
to yield to the popular clamour and sign their death 
warrant when Adrian and Irene entered. 

The young nobleman had realised the serious 
danger threatening his father and the other barons 
when their attack failed. Wishing to save his kin- 
dred and friends, although he knew they deserved 
punishment, he had hastened in search of Irene 
and begged her to plead with her brother for the 
prisoners’ lives. This the tender-hearted girl con- 
sented to do; and they now came to present the 


216 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


petition together. Falling on their knees before 
Rienzi they begged him to show mercy rather than 
justice and prove the greatness of his high office. 

This was just the sort of petition that appealed to 
the high-souled Tribune. He impulsively tore up 
the sentence which he was about to sign, and call- 
ing the people together he addressed them again 
with that eloquence of which he was so great a 
master. He asked to be allowed to pardon the 
barons, as it was him only that they had attacked. 
The people gave their consent, though not without 
murmurs, and the prisoners were then summoned 
to the throne-room. 

Rienzi received them in state, and for once they 
were cowed into submission. Indeed, they ex- 
pected nothing less than sentence of death; and if 
any of them had been in Rienzi’s place he would 
have lost no time in pronouncing this sentence. 
But as we have before seen, the chief fault of Rienzi 
was too great faith in the promises of other men. 
Now it led him into the great mistake of his life. 
To the utter surprise of the prisoners, the Tribune 
addressed them in words of kindness and pardon. 

“Friends,” he said quietly, “I have been deeply 
grieved by the outbreak for which ye are now in 
chains. As concerns my own life, I care not a 
straw. I will gladly offer it up at any moment for 
the good of my country. But in your late attack 


RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 217 


I cannot but see that ye were aiming at my country 
rather than me. Ye were violating your words. 
Ye were breaking the laws. If I regarded only 
the justice of the case and the requests of my peo- 
ple, I should order you to immediate execution; 
for this ye have deserved. But the teachings of 
holy church are that we shall temper our deeds with 
mercy. I have therefore asked the people, whom 
ye have offended, to forgive you for my sake. This 
they will do if ye renew your allegiance, — promising 
solemnly upon your honour as gentlemen and Chris- 
tians to respect the laws of the people and my au- 
thority as their representative.” 

During this speech the barons looked at one an- 
other in doubt and amazement. Never had they 
heard its like. Their whole lives had been spent 
under the principle of “kill or be killed,” and the 
nobility of this young dreamer struck no responsive 
note in their own breasts. But when he ended his 
speech of pardon with the condition that they take 
a new oath of allegiance, they saw it was their only 
hope of escape. And so they all promised, though 
sullenly and reluctantly, and each one resolved in 
his heart to pay no heed to a promise wrung from 
him by force of circumstances. 

Thus you see the Tribune’s good deed brought 
forth no good fruit — only evil; for as the prisoners 
were set free, their faces wore such heavy scowls 


218 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


and their teeth set so savagely that the people were 
filled with foreboding and for the first time began 
to doubt the wisdom of their ruler. 

The citizens had good cause to be alarmed. That 
very night the barons secretly fled from the city, 
and the next day reports reached the market-place 
that they were collecting a large army in the prov- 
inces and would soon march against Rienzi to crush 
him. The reports were soon confirmed and grew 
more portentous day by day. The people became 
terrified and openly reproached the Tribune for his 
lack of foresight. Yet they still clung to him as 
their leader, and implored him to save them from 
their enemies. 

Rienzi went about with calm and cheerful counte- 
nance. His very presence inspired confidence, and 
his speeches brought the people flocking to his 
standard and ready to shed their last drop of blood 
in the beloved cause. 

But there was one, in this troublous time, whose 
heart was torn with conflicting emotions. Poor 
Adrian did not know which way to turn. Loyalty 
to his kindred and father’s house demanded that he 
side with the barons. A new-found devotion to his 
country and belief in Rienzi urged him to support 
the people. And in addition he had become deeply 
in love with the gentle Irene and felt that she re- 
sponded to his devotion. It was indeed a heart- 


RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 219 


breaking situation for him and one that seemed 
more hopeless as the days of battle grew imminent. 

Finally the barons’ army drew proudly on the 
city, and halting before the gates demanded its in- 
stant surrender. The wardens shouted back de- 
fiance, while from within came the sound of singing 
and marching men. Rienzi’s forces approached the 
gates with resolute step keeping time to a sonorous 
war-chant. At their head rode the Tribune, his 
dark eyes flashing with the light of conflict. But 
before he could give orders to throw open the gates 
and meet the enemy on open ground, Adrian sprang 
forward and cast himself before Rienzi’s charger. 

“Halt! I beseech you, O Tribune!” he cried, 
while the steed reared and its rider drew in the reins 
sharply. 

“What is the cause of this?” demanded Rienzi 
sternly. 

“Let me plead with the barons once more!” 
begged Adrian. “Perchance they will listen to me, 
and there will be no need of bloodshed. Ah, let us 
have an armistice!” 

“It is too late,” replied the Tribune. “They 
have shown us that we can put no faith in speeches. 
Stand aside! What ho, wardens! Open the 
gates, and let us give these rebels all the fighting 
they desire !” 

And so they did ! While the unfortunate Adrian 


220 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


was brushed aside, the gates were unbarred and 
the two armies rushed together in the shock of 
battle. Rome the ancient seat of many fierce 
struggles never saw one more fierce or deadly than 
this. The barons were spurred on by hatred and 
greed. The people were fighting for their liber- 
ties. And here and there and everywhere the black 
horse of Rienzi was seen, bearing his triumphant 
rider into the thickest of the fray. Rienzi’s plume 
waving above his dark hair was the signal of vic- 
tory. Rienzi’s clear voice was encouragement and 
conquest. 

Finally after fearful slaughter the barons broke 
and fled. The Tribune had once again defeated 
them. Among the heaps of slain was Adrian’s 
father, the head of the house of Colonna. While 
the victorious citizens buried the dead, they sang 
praises to their leader, whom they idolised more 
than ever. And it did indeed seem that a bright 
day had dawned for Rome. 

But though the barons were defeated and dis- 
persed, they had by no means given up the struggle. 
They now tried by underhand means to gain their 
ends. The Emperor of Germany had for some 
time asserted sovereignty, in nominal fashion, over 
Rome. To him the barons now appealed saying 
that the city was in the hands of a dangerous rebel. 
They also visited the Pope at Avignon and artfully 


RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 221 


persuaded him that Rienzi was a dangerous heretic 
who openly scoffed at all authority. Though the 
Pope had formerly felt compelled to flee from 
Rome because of the barons, he now listened to 
their speeches and, strange to say, fell in with their 
plans. The Emperor also sent orders that his am- 
bassadors were to be recalled. 

This news, reaching Rome, caused a new up- 
heaval in the minds of the fickle people. Many 
were ready, without delay, to turn against the man 
they had been worshipping. Their emotions were 
still further worked upon by some designing dema- 
gogues, one being Cecco, the blacksmith we have 
before noticed. Cecco and his band thought they 
could push themselves to power in this general dis- 
turbance, and they lost no chance of poisoning the 
ears of the crowd. 

Finally, a new leader appeared. It was none 
other than Adrian, who, frantic with grief over the 
death of his father, now publicly announced that 
he had vowed to slay Rienzi, and called upon the 
people to help him to put down the usurper and 
tyrant. And soon the cry arose in this street and 
that, “Down with Rienzi!” For the people had 
forgotten — as people will forget. 

But still there were others who argued stoutly 
for the Tribune’s cause, so that words ran high and 
many citizens did not know what to believe. 


222 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


In the midst of the disturbance the great bell of 
the cathedral rang out calling the people to wor- 
ship. A public service of thanksgiving had been 
announced in celebration of the great victory; and 
presently the Papal Legate and all his train ap- 
peared going to the service. This made the crowd 
still more doubtful in their beliefs, though public 
sentiment began to veer again toward Rienzi. 

“See!” they said, “the Pope himself is helping to 
celebrate the victory. Then surely he has not with- 
drawn his favour from Rienzi!” 

Just then Rienzi himself appeared, leading his 
sister by the hand and proceeding with firm step 
to the cathedral. Adrian was among the throng 
who saw him pass; but though Adrian had vowed 
to slay him, and there were many in the press who 
had been shouting “Down with Rienzi!” there was 
not a finger stirred against him — such was the ma- 
jesty of his calm demeanour. Adrian himself could 
not strike this man while he walked hand in hand 
with Irene! 

Her face was pale, and her eyes bore traces of 
suffering as though she had feared for her brother’s 
safety, or sorrowed over another’s grief. Indeed, 
she had done both ; and if Adrian could have looked 
upon her heart he would have seen a struggle as 
keen as the one he was undergoing; a grief whose 
reason would have caused him both pain and joy. 


RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 223 


Just as Irene and Rienzi drew near to the door 
of the cathedral the crowd saw a startling scene. 
The Papal Legate came forth clad in the full re- 
galia of the church and forbade them to enter. In 
a loud voice he pronounced a curse upon Rienzi. 
He was forbidden to partake of the sacrament or 
have any part in the church’s privileges. All men, 
likewise, were forbidden to aid him in any way, lest 
they should incur a similar penalty. 

This was what was known as excommunication. 
It was the severest punishment in the power of the 
church, and was usually directed only against crim- 
inals or desperate characters. 

When Rienzi heard these unjust and unexpected 
words, he staggered back filled with amazement 
and horror. He had not looked for such reward 
as this for his great services, and he knew not which 
way to turn. The citizens on their part shrank 
away from him as from one smitten with the plague. 
Meanwhile, Adrian sprang to Irene’s side. 

“Come away with me!” he said gently. “The 
anathema was not directed against you, and I can 
conduct you to safety.” 

“No!” she cried, clinging the closer to her 
brother. “No! where he goes, there will I go! I 
will never forsake him or refuse to share his curses 
or his perils !” 

“But you cannot protect him! Come while there 
is yet time!” 


224 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“No!” she again exclaimed, and, pressing to 
Rienzi’s side, the brother and sister proceeded 
slowly down the street, while the crowd parted to 
right and left and watched them depart in sullen 
silence. 

Though momentarily crushed by the blow, 
Rienzi was still undaunted. He believed that if he 
could yet gain the ear of the people he could win 
his cause with them, and then he would lay it in 
its true light before the Pope. Now his soul was 
filled with sorrow instead of anger, and as he went 
on his way he busied himself with new plans for the 
city’s good. 

“Let us go to the Capitol,” he said in low tones 
to his sister. “There on the outer balcony I will 
address my people.” 

“No, no, dear brother, let us flee!” replied Irene. 
“Rome has been ungrateful and you owe her no 
further service. I pray you do not tarry in her 
gates !” 

“And thus proclaim myself guilty?” answered 
Rienzi. “Not so. Besides, where could I go? 
Rome has been my one passion — my very life! 
Without her my life would be aimless. Ah, no! let 
me lay it down in her service, if she demands it, and 
it will be given gladly — if only Rome may rise up 
better for the gift!” 

Irene shook her head sadly but did not remon- 


RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 225 


strate further. In silence they drew near the Capi- 
tol and ascended its broad stone steps. The guards 
on each side saluted the Tribune as he passed. 
Once within, he gave certain orders to heralds who 
stood near, and went to an ante-room where he 
poured out his very heart in earnest prayer. But it 
was not for himself that he prayed: it was for the 
safety of his beloved Rome. 

And how were the Romans requiting him? The 
news of the excommunication ran through the city 
like wildfire, and caused the most intense excite- 
ment. People talked of nothing else. Cecco and 
the other plotters made the utmost of it, assuring 
the crowds that Rienzi’s many sins had found him 
out, and that he was too dangerous a man to be suf- 
fered to live another day. 

Adrian, on the contrary, ashamed of his previous 
part, did all he could to turn the tide in favour of 
the wronged Tribune. But it was in vain. His 
own former words were shouted back against him, 
while the crowds that followed Cecco and the plot- 
ters constantly grew larger and more noisy. They 
had heard that the Tribune had taken refuge in 
the Capitol; and to their increasing cry of “Down 
with Rienzi!” was added the still more ominous one 
of “Burn the Capitol!” 

Finally Adrian saw that only the most desperate 
means would save the Tribune’s life; nothing short 


226 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


of instant and secret flight would avail him. Has- 
tening by side streets, the young nobleman burst 
into the Capitol, where he found Irene guarding 
the door to her brother’s room. 

“Where is Rienzi?” he said swiftly. “We must 
all flee! The people are coming with torches to 
burn the Capitol!” 

“He is there, but he will not flee,” she answered ; 
“and my place is with him.” 

“Oh, Irene, Irene! Can you not see that my 
heart is burning up with love for you? I have 
loved you since that night I first saw you in the 
street. Come with me, I beseech you! We will 
implore your brother also to flee ; but if he will not 
be persuaded, why need you sacrifice yourself?” 

Then without waiting for her reply, he dashed 
past her into the room where Rienzi knelt in prayer. 

“Come !” said Adrian, “the people are approach- 
ing to fire the Capitol! You and your sister will 
be lost, if you do not follow me by a secret way 
which I know. Listen! do you not hear the noise 
in the streets?” 

The dull roar was indeed becoming louder and 
louder; but Rienzi only smiled. 

“I am used to the people and do not fear them,” 
he said. “But Irene, child, this is no place for 
you. I entreat you to go with this good friend.” 

Irene had also entered the room, and now flushed 
red, but said no word. 


RIENZI, LAST OF THE TRIBUNES 227 


“I have asked her to go with me for always,” 
said Adrian. “God knows how in this hour of dis- 
tress I love her and will protect her! I pray you 
join your word with mine.” 

“Do you love this man, sister?” asked Rienzi, 
gazing at her kindly. 

Irene bowed a silent “yes” and then burst into 
tears, clinging to her brother’s hand. 

“Then go with him,” he continued, placing her 
hand in Adrian’s. “I, too, have loved, and the ob- 
ject of my love has been Rome. As you two must 
cling to one another now, so must I cling to my un- 
happy city. Go!” 

It was high time. The advance guard of the 
mob was already surging into the square. Without 
waiting a moment longer Adrian wrung his friend’s 
hand and lifted the swooning form of Irene. Car- 
rying her down a dim corridor and through the se- 
cret passage of which he had spoken, he bore her 
speedily to safety. 

But Rienzi ! Faithful to the last to his noble en- 
deavour, the brave Tribune ascended the open bal- 
cony in full view of the people and tried to address 
them. But Cecco and the other demagogues would 
not permit this. They were afraid lest his match- 
less eloquence should once more win the people’s 
hearts. Hooting and yelling, they picked up great 
stones and hurled them into the balcony where he 


228 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


stood. Others of the mob applied torches to the 
balcony and other parts of the building. Soon the 
heavy smoke rolled up, and then the bright scorch- 
ing flame. The smoke shut the dreadful scene from 
view, but in the light of the fire it again stood out 
clearly. There, with hands uplifted, Rienzi still 
sought to address the people. The splendid 
dreamer had no thought of flying from his martyr- 
dom. 

With a mighty crash the walls of the Capitol fell 
in — symbol of the destruction of the government. 
Long were the people to mourn their work of this 
day! A shower of burning embers rose into the 
sky, then slowly settled back again upon a grey 
and smoking pile. It was the tomb of the Last of 
the Tribunes. 


The Flying Dutchman 

(Her Fliegende Hollander) 

H AVE you ever seen a full-rigged ship? 
What a creature of mystery and delight it 
is, as it rides at anchor! It seems to tell 
of distant shores and places far more wonderful 
than any we have ever seen. Then, as it spreads 
its broad white wings, it seems a thing of life, awak- 
ing out of sleep and eager to start again upon its 
travels. What majesty and beauty are then dis- 
played as it turns and breasts the open sea — rising 
and dipping as though in challenge to its ancient 
enemy ! 

Our admiration for the ship is only heightened 
when we remember that for centuries such craft as 
this have ploughed the waves. They have discov- 
ered the uttermost ends of the earth. They have 
made all men neighbours, one with another, — shar- 
ing the fruits of the tropics with the grain of the 
colder zones. Ages before steam was put to use, 
sailing vessels much like this of the present time 
were busy in the service of man. And they will 
continue to serve him so long as men “go down to 
the sea in ships.” 

229 


230 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Seamen, since the beginning of time, have been 
a race unto themselves, having their own mode of 
life, customs and beliefs. They believe in lucky 
and unlucky days, signs, clouds, birds, and breezes ; 
and so completely are they at the mercy of wind 
and wave, that we cannot marvel greatly at these 
superstitions. Above all they believe in an Evil 
Spirit of the sea, who delights to bring harm to 
mariners, send adverse winds and waves, and drag 
them down into the depths of the ocean. This 
Spirit, they say, can change a gentle breeze to a ter- 
rific gale in an instant. He can cause vessels to 
sink that have no leak. He can set strange fights 
ahead and thus lure a crew to dangerous reefs. 
Terrible is his wrath, also, if any sailor presumes 
to defy him. How this wrath was visited upon one 
reckless seaman is the subject of our present tale. 

Many years ago a bold Dutch captain named 
Vanderdecken sailed the Southern ocean with a 
picked crew of hardy fellows. For months he 
traded in various ports until he grew exceedingly 
prosperous. The hold of his ship became so heavy 
with gold that the vessel set deep in the waves. 
Then Vanderdecken grew tired of his voyaging. 
He pictured to himself the joys of a cosy little 
home — such as his gold would buy — presided over 
by a loving wife. So he set all sail around the 
Cape of Good Hope, eager to reach his beloved 
Holland and bid the sea farewell. 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


231 


But the Cape of Good Hope is ill-named, so 
mariners say, and it proved ill hope for Vander- 
decken. A furious storm arose beating him di- 
rectly in the face and keeping his ship from round- 
ing the point of land. Again and again he turned 
his prow in the teeth of the gale, and tried to tack 
against it, but without success. Finally he became 
enraged and swore a fearful oath that he would 
sail around the Cape if it took him till doomsday. 

The Evil Spirit heard this oath and laughed ma- 
liciously. He resolved to hold the captain to his 
word, and keep him sailing the ocean until the end 
of the world. So he cast a spell upon the whole 
crew, by which they could not die and their ship 
could not sink. Year in and year out they were 
compelled to sail wearily without ever reaching their 
journey’s end. The ship grew crazy and worm- 
eaten, but still never sprang a leak. The sails were 
kept unharmed through magic, and in the course of 
time they became red as blood, as though all the life 
had been drawn from the hearts of the ghostly 
mariners who grew old and grizzled and shrivelled. 
They came to long for death, but all in vain would 
they face the gales with all sails set, or steer straight 
upon the angry reefs. On and on must they voy- 
age, and but one ray of hope was left them. Their 
captain — who alone kept his youthful look — was 
told that if he could find a woman who would love 


232 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


him and be faithful until death, the curse would be 
removed. Once in every seven years he was per- 
mitted to land; but if he found no one to become 
his wife, he was obliged to set sail again upon his 
weary voyage. 

Time after time Vanderdecken sought for the one 
who would save him, but without success. His 
strange appearance and the tales told of his “Phan- 
tom Ship,” as it was called, daunted even the brav- 
est. All the maidens shuddered when he ap- 
proached, for did not their fathers and sweethearts 
say that of all ill omens this black ship with its 
blood-red sails was the worst? It was always met 
in a storm or before some great disaster. Sailors 
would cross themselves as they told how it would 
be met driving furiously before a gale, and how the 
spectral crew would hail them and ask where they 
were — pretending to have lost both chart and com- 
pass. Then they would ask leave to send a pack- 
age of messages and letters home by them; and 
without waiting for reply, the ancient-looking 
sailors would row over in a battered boat, caring 
naught how high the seas ran. After they left 
their letters and rowed back, the Phantom Ship 
would plunge onward, while the wind whistled 
through its rigging. The sailors with whom the 
letters were left would perforce try to deliver them, 
for though it was deemed unlucky to take them it 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


233 


was still more unlucky to keep or destroy them. 
But no one to whom they were addressed was ever 
found, though often the old parish records would 
show there had been people of that name two hun- 
dred or, maybe, three hundred years before. 

So the quest of the Phantom Ship passed into 
a proverb, and many were the tales told of its cap- 
tain. He was known far and wide as the Flying 
Dutchman, and in the gloom of some gathering 
storm seamen spoke of seeing his pale face peering 
anxiously over the low prow of his black ship, seek- 
ing a way around the Cape of Good Hope. While 
at sunset, when the last rays tinged the dancing 
waves with ruddy glory, the children on the strand 
would be shown the Flying Dutchman’s blood-red 
sail. 

At the time when our story begins, a fierce storm 
had been raging in the North Sea. To escape 
its fury a stout Norwegian ship sailed hastily be- 
fore the wind into the nearest port and cast anchor. 
Its captain, a stout weather-beaten man, was pro- 
voked at having to do this, as he was nearly home 
and anxious to get there and greet his only daugh- 
ter, after a long voyage. Daland was the cap- 
tain’s name, and Senta that of his daughter. She 
had been left motherless when very young, and 
now lived quietly with her old nurse while her 


234 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


father was away upon his voyages. Senta was a 
quiet, dark-eyed girl given much to day dreams on 
account of her somewhat lonely life. She was de- 
voted to her father, and believed in him implicitly. 

Daland was not a bad man, but he had one great 
passion, and that was for gold. His life-long de- 
sire was to be rich, and this desire led to his taking 
long voyages and braving many dangers. Never- 
theless, his money did not accumulate so fast as he 
wished — does it ever do that? — and Daland was 
often discontented. 

His last voyage had been anything but a success. 
His ship had met one adverse wind after another, 
and in two heavy storms it had come so near sink- 
ing that they were forced to throw overboard some 
of the cargo. And now when they were within 
forty miles of home, another gale sent them scud- 
ding into the wrong harbour. It was hard luck, but 
sailor-like they prepared to make the best of it. 
Daland allowed all the weary crew to go below and 
get a good rest. He himself followed their exam- 
ple, leaving only one man at the wheel. 

The air was heavy, as it often is during a thun- 
der-storm, and the dark clouds rolled fiercely across 
the sky. But within the bay the water was com- 
paratively quiet, and the ship rode easily at her 
anchor. The gentle motion and still air were too 
much for the man on lookout, and he, also, went to 
sleep with his head leaning upon the wheel. 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


235 


While he slept, the storm burst again with in- 
creased fury just beyond, in the open sea; and out 
of the teeth of the gale sped another ship coming 
straight for the same harbour. The rising waves 
leaped high on all sides of her low black hull, threat- 
ening to engulf her. But if you could have seen 
the crew at work, you would have noticed that they 
paid no heed to the tempest except to shake their 
fists, perhaps, in defiance of it. On they came, the 
wind howling shrilly through the rigging and tug- 
ging vainly at the bulging sails. And, marvellous 
to relate, every one of these sails was set, as though 
it had been a clear day instead of a time to scud with 
hare poles ; and the sails were red as blood ! 

Not until they had entered harbour and were 
close alongside Daland’s ship did the crew furl sail 
or cast anchor. So quickly and noiselessly was the 
canvas dropped that the ship rode at anchor before 
any of the other crew were even aware of their ap- 
proach. Then a boat was lowered from the new- 
comer’s side, and the captain entered it and was 
rowed ashore. He was a strange-looking man, 
with long black hair, heavy eyebrows, and a hunted 
expression about the eyes. His skin was fair, de- 
spite his many other evidences of long sailing, and 
he had a certain air of gentleness and sadness which 
lent him an attractive — almost handsome — appear- 
ance. His crew were even stranger in looks, for 


236 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


they all seemed to be old men, grey and withered, 
despite the vigorous strokes with which they sent 
the long-boat flying through the waves. 

As the boat grated upon the sand the captain 
breathed a great sigh of relief, and leaped ashore 
without heeding the shallow water between him and 
dry land. He walked with the stiffness of a man 
who has long felt under his feet only the rolling 
decks of a ship. The first rock he met, jutting out 
of the beach, he fell upon his knees and embraced, 
out of very gladness to be on firm ground! Then 
he mounted the crag and looked landward. 

“Seven long years!” he mused. “Thank God, 
that I am permitted to set foot upon dry land once 
more ! When will my weary voyaging cease, and I 
become free of this fickle ocean?” 

It was, as you have doubtless guessed, the Flying 
Dutchman, home on another search for the woman 
who would release him from his spell. 

Just then his musings were cut short by a voice 
hailing him. “Skipper, ahoy!” it said. 

Daland had awakened out of his slumber and 
come on deck to find his helmsman asleep and the 
strange ship anchored close by. He was both 
startled and provoked, but seeing the captain on 
shore he now addressed him through a speaking 
trumpet. 

“Whence come you?” he asked, seeing the stran- 
ger turn and look at him. 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


237 


For answer, the Dutchman made a wide sweep 
with his arms and then beckoned to Daland. Some- 
thing in his manner so aroused the latter’s curiosity 
that he ordered a boat lowered and rowed over to 
the beach. 

“My name is Daland, a skipper of Norway,” he 
said. “Whence and who are you?” 

“I am a Dutchman and I have been around the 
world since I last set foot here,” answered the 
stranger in a low voice. 

“I should think you would be glad to come ashore 
again,” said Daland. “I am, for I’ve had a pre- 
cious rough voyage of it. Did you meet any 
storms ?” 

The Dutchman smiled. “ Nothing but storms,” 
he said, “but my ship will weather the best of them.” 

“What cargo do ‘you carry?” asked Daland, 
mindful of his own unlucky experience. 

“Oh, weighty enough: I’ve been trading in gold 
and precious stones,” said the stranger indiffer- 
ently. 

An eager look came into Daland’s eyes. “I 
should think you would hate to throw over any of 
that!” he said. 

“There are a good many things I value more 
highly,” replied the other. “I have known the time 
when I would gladly give it all for a little corner 
of dry land where I might live in peace.” 


238 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“And I,” laughed Daland, “leave my little cor- 
ner and cruise around the world in search of that 
same gold.” 

It was now the stranger’s turn to become inter- 
ested. 

“Do you live near here?” he asked. 

“Aye, just around the next headland. There’s 
a cosy hearthstone and cheering cup awaiting me 
there, and I should have been there now, if it had 
not been for this wretched storm.” 

“Perhaps it has blown you a little good luck,” re- 
plied the Dutchman; “that is, if you really care for 
money.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Just this. I was in earnest, awhile ago, when 
I said I would give all my gold for a plot of dry 
land. My heart is hungry for a bit of home life; 
and if you will let me be your guest while we are 
ashore, I shall make you a rich man.” 

“Do you mean that?” asked Daland, staring at 
him. 

“I will pay you in advance,” said the stranger. 
And he blew a shrill whistle to his crew and shouted 
out some orders in a strange tongue. In answer 
some of the curious-looking sailors ran down into 
the hold and came up again bearing a heavy chest 
which they brought to the strand and opened. 

There before Daland’s greedy eyes lay revealed 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


239 


a glittering mass of precious stones and fine gold, 
richer than anything of which he had ever dreamed. 
His fingers twitched and he fairly gasped with 
amazement. 

“Gorgeous !” he exclaimed. “You must be the 
happiest man in the world to have all that !” 

“Happy?” said the other, in a sad voice. “Of 
what use is this treasure if I have no treasure of 
the heart — no home, no wife, no family ties? For 
years I have wandered alone, till my soul is weary ; 
and what I have longed for, it has been beyond the 
power of this paltry stuff to supply!” 

And the Dutchman snapped his fingers in con- 
tempt at the chest. 

D aland who was really good of heart was 
touched by the stranger’s words. 

“Come home with me,” he said. “With or with- 
out reward you shall have the best my modest table 
affords, and my daughter Senta shall cook and 
serve it with her own hands.” 

“Then you have a daughter?” asked the stranger 
turning quickly. “How old is she?” 

“She is grown now, though I can scarcely think 
of her save as a little girl. Winsome is she, as all 
my neighbours say, and a better girl never lived. 
My will has been her law ever since her mother 
died.” 

“Hark you, man!” said the stranger, gripping 


240 . STORIES FROM WAGNER 


his hand and speaking swiftly and earnestly. “You 
must judge me by what you see of me. But if you 
will promise me your daughter’s hand, provided I 
win her, all that this chest contains shall be yours!” 

D aland looked at the stranger keenly. His 
clear-cut face and noble bearing told strongly in 
his favour. 

“She is my only child,” the Norwegian answered 
presently, “but I promise to further your suit. As 
you are generous, you show me a good and noble 
heart. Yes, I should be glad to see you my son- 
in-law. And were your wealth not half as great, 
I’d not choose another.” 

A glad smile broke over the wandering seaman’s 
face as he heard these words. And as if in sym- 
pathy the sun broke forth from the bank of clouds 
in the western sky, the wind died down and the 
water grew calm. 

“See! it is to be clear weather, after all!” he ex- 
claimed. 

“Yes, we can make the home harbour by night- 
fall. Come, let us weigh anchor and hoist sail!” 
said Daland. 

“Lead on, and I will follow you presently. I 
have some sails to mend,” replied the Dutchman. 
He well knew that his ship’s strange appearance 
and red sails would arouse comment if he entered 
the harbour before night. 



Daland looked at the stranger keenly 






THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


241 


“So be it!” agreed Daland; and he went on 
board ship and ordered all sails set. Before a brisk 
little breeze his vessel scudded out of harbour, while 
the sailors, delighted with the prospect of soon being 
at home after their long, rough voyage, sang a rol- 
licking song ending with the shout, “Hoho! Hal- 
loho !” 

While her father’s ship was nearing harbour that 
afternoon, Senta was in the midst of a merry group 
at her home. Several of her girl friends had come 
to pay her a visit, and, according to the quaint Nor- 
wegian custom, they had brought their spinning- 
wheels with them so that they might not be idle 
during the daylight hours. Now the wheels 
whirred and the maidens chattered at a lively rate. 
But strange to say, Senta was the idlest of the lot. 
Her hands would fall into her lap, and her gaze 
would wander into space. She was indeed a lovely 
picture as she sat thus, her great dark eyes glowing 
and the rich colour coming and going in her cheeks, 
called up by the romantic visions she saw. 

“What, dreaming again, Senta?” exclaimed her 
old nurse and housekeeper, Maria, entering at one 
of these idle moments. “You are setting your visi- 
tors a fine example! And what if your father 
should come home and see you dawdling thus?” 

Senta flushed, smiled, and took up her flax. The 
other girls laughed mischievously. 


242 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“You oughtn’t to have told her that old ballad, 
Maria!” they said. “Now she can’t get her mind 
off the Flying Dutchman. She sits here and gazes 
at his picture by the hour.” 

There was indeed an old print supposed to be a 
likeness of the wandering seaman, on the wall. It 
had been picked up with many other curious things 
by Daland upon his travels; and Maria who knew 
a ballad telling of the Dutchman’s weary search for 
a wife had recited it to them. The story was just 
of the sort to attract Sent a. 

“ ’Tis strange,” she murmured, as though speak- 
ing to herself, “strange that the poor Flying Dutch- 
mas is doomed to sail on forever, because he can 
find no one who will love him till death! Are we 
maidens, then, all so fickle and heartless?” 

“No, we are not heartless, at any rate!” laughed 
one of the girls. “But who wants to wed the cap- 
tain of a Phantom Ship that comes to port only 
once in seven years?” 

“And who will outlive you, and marry some one 
else, a hundred years from now?” chimed in an- 
other. 

“No, no!” said Senta; “that would be because 
you did not love him !” 

“But who could love him — a ghost like that? 
Ugh!” said a third. 

“I could!” exclaimed Senta, her fine eyes flash- 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


243 


mg. “If I knew that I could save him, I would de- 
vote myself to him gladly !” 

“Oh, Senta! What are you saying 1” cried the 
girls in a chorus. 

“You forget Erik!” said one. 

Erik was a young hunter who lived in the moun- 
tains, and who was devoted in his attentions to 
Senta. She had always liked him, having grown 
up with him, but she had not given him all her 
love. 

“No, I do not forget Erik,” she said stoutly, “but 
he is not the Flying Dutchman.” 

“Nor do I want to be!” exclaimed a hearty voice, 
as Erik himself burst into the room. “What is this 
I hear, Senta? Be careful, or I shall grow jealous 
even of the Flying Dutchman!” 

He greeted the visitors, and then continued: 
“But I just ran in to tell you that I sighted your 
father’s ship rounding the headland, and back of it 
some distance is another vessel. Doubtless your 
father is bringing guests with him, so you had bet- 
ter tell the good Maria to bestir herself.” 

Senta jumped up and clapped her hands at the 
news of her father’s return. Instantly the whole 
room was in confusion. The spinning-wheels were 
quickly set aside, and the maidens helped to bring 
the long table to the centre of the room and set it 
for the expected company. Then they hastily 


244 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


gathered up their belongings and bade their hos- 
tess good-day, leaving her alone with Erik. 

“What was this I heard about the Flying Dutch- 
man, Senta?” he asked in a tender voice. 

“I was just expressing pity for his lonely lot,” 
she answered. 

“Doesn’t my loneliness awaken any pity, then?” 

“You do not deserve so much sympathy,” she 
said lightly. “You are young and strong and — 
well, almost any of the girls here to-day would 
show you some interest. But the poor wandering 
seaman is compelled to sail on till doomsday be- 
cause nobody cares.” 

“Come, come, Senta, you must be jesting!” said 
the hunter, growing pale. “You surely cannot 
place this spectre ahead of all of us flesh-and-blood 
people in your regard!” 

“Why does the thought alarm you so?” she said 
evasively. 

“Because of a dream I had. It was so real that 
I have been able to think of nothing else all day.” 

“Was it about — him?' * 

“Yes, it was about the Flying Dutchman. I 
dreamed that your father came home from sea, 
bringing with him a mysterious stranger whom no 
one knew anything about, except that he was very 
wealthy. He was tall and gaunt, with pale face, 
flowing black hair and eager-looking eyes. As 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


245 


soon as he saw you he could not keep these eyes off 
of you, and he asked for your hand in marriage.” 

“And I consented?” asked Senta breathlessly. 

“Oh, Senta! Yes, you left me at once and went 
with him. I followed you down to the beach im- 
ploring you to stay. But the stranger took you 
on board his ship, and hoisted a blood-red sail. You 
were gone with the Flying Dutchman— lost — lost 
forever!” 

“No, not lost!” she cried. “It was a vision! It 
was my destiny!” 

“Senta! Senta!” cried Erik almost beside himself 
with grief ; and unable to control his emotion longer 
he rushed from the house. 

And then — as if in answer to the dream, Senta 
thought — presently the door opened and her father 
came in, and with him — the stranger ! He was like 
Erik’s description, even like the old print that hung 
upon the wall; and as he directed his gentle blue 
eyes to her face, Senta knew instinctively that this 
was none other than the Flying Dutchman himself. 

Springing to meet her father, she hid her face 
upon his shoulder and burst into tears. Daland 
kissed her and patted her upon the cheek. 

“There, little daughter!” he said. “Have you 
really missed your old daddy while he was away? 
Well, he has missed you, too. But you are forget- 
ting your manners. You have not yet greeted our 
guest.” 


246 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Senta had by this time regained some of her com- 
posure, and she now turned to the visitor and 
greeted him, but in a cold, constrained voice. She 
was in reality holding herself in check, for her whole 
heart went out to him. 

But her father thought, “She is cold, the little 
minx! I must tell her my wishes in this matter, 
and hint about the chest of gold.” The foolish old 
captain measured everything by gold — even his 
daughter’s affection, but this only showed how lit- 
tle he understood her. 

So, while the evening meal was being prepared 
and the stranger had been shown to his room to 
make himself ready, Daland took his daughter aside 
and told her what little he knew of the stranger; 
that he had been a wanderer without kith or kin; 
and that he had immense wealth and was now de- 
sirous of settling down and having a home of his 
own. 

“He has asked me to receive him as a guest,” 
Daland concluded; “and he has also obtained my 
permission to sue for your hand. Will you be 
obedient to my wish in this as heretofore, and con- 
sent to become his wife?” 

“I will give my answer to him, father,” she re- 
plied quietly, “after I learn from his own lips how 
much or little he needs me.” 

Daland was fain to be content with this reply, 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


247 


but something in his daughter’s tone reassured him, 
and he wisely decided not to press the matter fur- 
ther until the stranger had been given the chance to 
urge his own case. 

There was an air of constraint about the evening 
meal, despite the host’s attempts to be jovial after 
his long absence. ’Tis true Senta gave a willing 
ear to the story of his voyage, and asked questions 
from time to time which showed how anxious she 
had been for his welfare while he was away. But 
the guest courteously evaded all inquiries about his 
own wanderings, and though he strove to be agree- 
able, it was plain to see that he was long unaccus- 
tomed to quiet home life such as this. 

Finally the supper was over, and D aland, saying 
that he had business that evening in the village, left 
Senta and the stranger alone. 

Then the girl, with an almost bursting heart, 
heard her visitor cross the room slowly and come to 
her side. 

“Senta!” he said — and there was both authority 
and entreaty in his low tone — “look at me!” 

She raised her eyes and met his gaze unflinch- 
ingly and in that glance each saw the soul of the 
other laid bare and knew that each was beloved. 

“Senta,” he continued, taking her hand, “I am 
a plain, rough man of the sea, and know not how 
to mend my speech for gentle ears like yours. But 


248 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


from the first moment I saw you, I loved you. And 
your father has already given his consent to my suit. 
What is your answer? Do I read your eyes 
aright?” 

‘‘Yes,” she answered simply; “it was Fate that 
brought you to me.” 

The seaman felt a great wave of joy rush over 
him. He was loved! Freedom from the Evil 
Spirit was within his grasp ! Then for the first time 
he realised how much he was asking of this inno- 
cent young girl. A curse was hanging over him; 
how could he ask one he loved to share it? 

“Stay!” he said, gently releasing her hand, “I 
have no right to obtain your promise thus. You 
do not know who I am.” 

A bright smile broke over Senta’s face. 

“Ah, but I do!” she exclaimed. 

“What! Is it possible that you know I am a 
wretched wanderer over the earth — ” 

“You have been,” she said. 

“That men look upon me with superstition and 
dread — ” 

“We will change all that.” 

“In short, that a curse is upon me? Hear me 
out!” (He raised his hand, as she was about to 
speak again.) “Hear me out, and then send me 
forth into the night, where I belong! I sought you 
selfishly to-day, to obtain your aid in the lifting of 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


249 


this curse, of which I speak. The Evil One has 
decreed that I shall wander forever, unless some 
true woman gives me her love and remains faith- 
ful until death. If her faith in me should waver, 
the curse would descend upon her also. Before 
I had even seen you, I asked your father for you, 
and was willing to sacrifice you to my own selfish 
ends* I thought not at all of what I asked of you! 
I see now how selfish I was, and I release you. 
Will you not dismiss me, as I deserve? I shall re- 
member you only with gratitude for the glimpse I 
have had of your brave heart.” 

“But do you not love me?” asked Senta. 

“It is just because I do love you that I cannot 
ask this sacrifice,” he replied, his pale face showing 
the struggle through which he passed. 

“Then this is my answer. Here is my hand; my 
heart goes with it, and even to death will I be faith- 
ful!” 

“She gives her hand, and promises to be faithful 
till death!” exclaimed the Dutchman, shaking his 
fist as if at some unseen foe. “Dost thou hear this 
— dread Spirit? I am free, and I defy thee!” 

And falling upon his knees he pressed her hands 
again and again to his lips. 

Just at this moment D aland re-entered the room, 
and was overjoyed at the turn of affairs. He gave 
the two his blessing, saying: 


250 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“To-morrow I give a feast to my sailors, accord- 
ing to custom ; and with your permission I shall an- 
nounce your betrothal at once.” 

The next day dawned bright and clear. On 
board the Norwegian ship all was bustle and activ- 
ity. The sailors were dressing it in its finest pen- 
nants and colours, making it ready for the visit of 
the townspeople and for the feast. All was noise 
and laughter and song, for they were as delighted 
as schoolboys when the long-looked-for vacation has 
come. 

But on board the Dutch vessel everything was as 
quiet as the grave. No one was seen stirring above 
decks, and not a flag fluttered except a single tiny 
one which told that the captain was gone upon 
shore. 

Then a group of laughing girls came down to the 
beach. Most of them we have already seen at 
Senta’s house. They brought great baskets of fruit 
and dainties to the sailors and when Daland’s crew 
saw this treat they lost no time in coming on shore. 
But still the Dutchman’s black ship gave no sign 
of life. 

“What is the matter with your fellow-voyagers?” 
asked the maidens. 

“No fellows of ours,” answered the Norwegians, 
“we never saw them until yesterday, and they 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


251 


haven’t budged since they cast anchor last night.” 

“Hey, sleepy-heads !” called out the girls taunt- 
ingly. “Come out and be sociable!” 

“You sleep like land-lubbers!” called a sailor. 

But no answer came back. 

“Let them alone,” said another sailor; “if they 
don’t care for good things to eat and drink, there 
will be just that much more for us.” 

“Greedy fellows!” laughed the girls. 

“Well, if I was as old and grizzled as that grey- 
beard crew yonder,” said the one who had just« 
spoken, “I wouldn’t care for feasts either — nor yet 
for pretty girls.” Here he gave a sly glance 
around. 

“They look like the crew of the Phantom Ship,” 
said another, laughing. And lifting his voice he 
called: “ Ho there, old black ship! What has be- 
come of the Flying Dutchman?” 

At this call a cold wind swept along the shore, 
so that all the merrymakers shuddered, and a name- 
less dread seized them. Then a strange thing hap- 
pened. The waves in the harbour remained calm, 
while just around the black ship they rose and 
tossed angrily as though in a violent storm. It 
grew dark, the wind howled through the rigging, 
and weird blue lights played about the mast-heads. 
In the midst of the miniature tempest, the ship’s 
crew appeared and began to hoist sail as though 


252 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


preparing to depart; and as they worked they sang 
a dirge-like song that told of the Flying Dutchman 
and his seven-year quest. Fie was even now in 
search of the wife that would save them all, they 
sang. 

This scene was too much for the merrymakers. 
The panic-stricken maidens fled in every direction, 
while the sailors seized with superstitious fear has- 
tened to their ship and ran below, making the sign 
of the cross. 

At sight of the panic, the strange crew burst into 
wild laughter, and the storm subsided as quickly as 
it had arisen, leaving the blue sky and clear water 
as before. 

Just then the door of Daland’s house opened, 
and Senta appeared and came down to the beach. 
She was followed by the hunter Erik, who had come 
to plead his cause once again. He could not bring 
himself to believe that his dream was coming true, 
and that Senta had plighted herself to the mysteri- 
ous stranger, as he had just heard. He reminded 
her of their lifelong comradeship, and how he had, 
even as a little boy, claimed her as his future wife. 

“Indeed you do belong to me!” he exclaimed, 
carried away by his emotion. “You gave me your 
heart — you know you did! Now you cannot take 
it away and give it to a stranger!” 

“Oh, Erik! you misjudge me!” Senta replied, 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


253 


wounded deeply by his words. And sorry for his 
evident distress she tried to comfort him with sym- 
pathy and tenderness. She could not bear to see 
her old playmate suffer, or have him think badly of 
her. 

Her attitude, however, was misunderstood by a 
third person who had approached unnoticed. It 
was the Flying Dutchman. He now believed that 
Senta was already regretting her promise to him, 
and with a wild, despairing cry of “Lost! All 
lost!” he sprang down the beach and prepared to 
take boat for his ship. 

“What do you mean?” asked Senta, hastening 
towards him. 

“Farewell, Senta!” he cried. “To sea, to sea, till 
time is ended! I release you from your promise! 
It is the only way I can save you from my fate 1” 

“Ah, do not go!” implored Senta. “I will not 
take back my word. I love you, love you ! I knew 
you from the first moment I saw you, and whereso- 
ever you go, there will I go!” 

“Think what you are saying, Senta!” exclaimed 
Erik, trying to restrain her. “They say that he 
and his ship are bewitched!” 

“I care not for that! My place is by his side!” 
she said, struggling to free herself. 

“Be advised by your friend,” said the seaman, 
who had mastered his own emotion in some meas- 


254 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


ure. “I am indeed under a spell. Ask any 
mariner who sails the seas, and he will tell you, with 
a shudder, to beware of the Flying Dutchman!” 

But Senta did not shrink back as he expected. 
Instead, she stretched out her arms triumphantly, 
crying, “Ah, I told you I knew you! Now you 
cannot go and leave me ! I will save you in spite of 
yourself !” 

Nevertheless the Dutchman turned away as 
though pushed forward by some unseen power. 

“No! ’tis I who must save you!” he exclaimed. 
And going aboard his ship hastily he blew his whis- 
tle and ordered the ship to be got under way. 

It had grown dark again, but through the gloom 
the blood-red sails glowed like a flame, while a 
strange signal-light burned in the prow, and the 
waves lapped eagerly about the bow as it began to 
move forward. 

With a shriek Senta endeavoured to follow, but 
Erik and her father, who had just run up with 
other villagers, held her back. The Phantom Ship 
was now fast leaving the harbour and directing its 
course to the headland, when Senta by a quick 
movement wrenched herself free and fled swiftly 
along the shore to the jutting point of rock. 

“Senta, you are beside yourself!” the others 
cried, trying to follow her. But she outdistanced 
them all, leaping over boulders and across chasms 
in her flight, till she had reached the headland. 


THE FLYING DUTCHMAN 


255 


The Phantom Ship was close beneath her in the 
seething spray. 

“Senta!” cried Erik, hastening to the point of 
rock where she stood. 

But she did not heed him. Instead, she 
stretched out her arms once more to the pale-faced 
man, standing in the prow of the oncoming vessel. 

“Here stand I, faithful even unto death!” she 
exclaimed, a heroic light shining in her dark eyes. 
“Give thanks to heaven that one way was left for 
your salvation!” 

With this she flung herself from the cliff into 
the raging sea. And instantly — wonder on won- 
der! — the waves grew calm. One last leap they 
gave as she touched them, and the Phantom Ship 
and all in it sank as she disappeared from view. 
But to the watchers on the shore a beautiful pic- 
ture was given, which sent them their separate 
ways with peace in their hearts. 

Above the spot where the Phantom Ship had 
gone down, never to be seen again, a rosy light 
hovered, making as it were a path leading straight 
through the bursting clouds to the bright sky be- 
yond. And in this glory two figures were seen 
hovering, locked in each other’s arms and rising 
upward. They were the radiant spirits of Senta 
and the lover she had saved. The Flying Dutch- 
man’s voyages were ended; the curse was lifted 
from him for evermore. 


Tristan and Isolde 

( Tristan und Isolde) 

O NCE upon a time a brave knight of Brit- 
tany went across the English Channel to 
the court of King Mark of Cornwall. The 
knight was noted for his valiant deeds, so the King 
was right glad to welcome him and attach him to his 
retinue. The knight also was willing to tarry, for 
the King had a sister who because of her beauty 
was called the “White Lily.” Indeed, the knight 
had fallen deeply in love with this fair Princess, 
and so he was overjoyed when at length he found 
that his love was returned. He obtained the 
King’s consent to make her his wife; and after a 
splendid ceremony the knight and his lady set sail 
for their castle in Brittany. Fate had so smiled 
upon them, that they thought themselves the hap- 
piest people in the whole world, and that none had 
been so favoured as they. 

But after a few short months of wedded life the 
knight fell sick and died. The poor bride was 

It will be interesting to compare this story with the version by 
Malory. The differences are characteristic of the distance between 
the colder ideals of Malory and the warmer and more human age of 
Wagner. 


256 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


257 


broken-hearted, and although a little boy was pres- 
ently given to her, the child did not assuage her 
grief. Instead he reminded her constantly of the 
husband she had lost. She called the boy’s name 
Tristan, which means “sadness.” 

Realising that she would soon follow her beloved 
husband she entrusted the boy to a trusty knight, 
Kurneval by name, to be taken over to her brother 
in Cornwall. Shortly afterward she died, and the 
little orphan was conveyed to his uncle as the mother 
had desired. 

King Mark was without wife or children of his 
own, so he gladly received Tristan into his lonely 
home. He brought him up as his own son, and 
publicly proclaimed him heir to the throne of Corn- 
wall. 

Tristan grew rapidly in beauty and strength, 
finding so especial a delight in horsemanship and 
knightly warfare, that by the time he was fifteen 
he could joust with the best of the knights. Cour- 
teous in speech and bearing was he, likewise, for he 
had been carefully trained by the knight Kurneval. 
And so, when the time of his knighting had ar- 
rived, Sir Tristan was already famed for his chiv- 
alry and prowess alike. His name became a 
proverb for true knighthood, and there was no man 
in Cornwall who could stand against him. 

A few years before this time, King Mark had 


258 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


been defeated in battle by the King of Ireland, 
and had promised to pay him a yearly tribute. 
Each year since that defeat the tribute had been 
collected by Sir Morold a gigantic knight whom all 
men feared because of his courage and cruelty. 
His demands grew heavier, year by year, until at 
last they became so great that the whole country 
groaned. Thus it went on until Tristan had be- 
come a knight, when eager for some splendid serv- 
ice to prove his spurs, he resolved to put an end to 
this oppression. So he challenged the huge war- 
rior to mortal combat. 

The challenge was promptly accepted, Morold 
liking nothing better than a fight, though — as he 
expressed it — he greatly feared this rash youth 
would not last long enough to get his blood warm. 
King Mark was also fearful of the fate of his fos- 
ter-son, but the word had gone forth and could not 
be withdrawn. 

The day came for the conflict, and many anxious 
spectators assembled to watch the champions fight 
— the one for the honour of Ireland, the other for 
the freedom of Cornwall. But Morold did not en- 
ter the lists fairly. Enraged that any one should 
presume to oppose him, he bore a poisoned spear 
which he flung at Tristan without warning. It 
made a slight wound which was unnoticed in the 
heat of the conflict that immediately began. 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


259 


The young knight sprang forward with sword 
drawn and met his towering opponent fiercely but 
with the most finished skill. Morold soon found 
that he had met more than his match at sword play, 
and he tried by his superior strength to beat down 
his antagonist. But in this also he was defeated, 
after a thrilling contest. At last growing rash he 
raised his sword and brought it about with a terrific 
swish that would certainly have cut Tristan in two, 
if he had not leaped nimbly backward. Before 
the Irish knight could recover himself, Tristan 
sprang forward again and by one swift stroke cut 
his head from his body. 

Cornwall was now free, and instead of sending 
his yearly tribute, King Mark sent the head of 
Morold back to Ireland to show this freedom for 
all time to come. Now Morold had been betrothed 
to an Irish Princess named Isolde; and when his 
severed head was received at court, she swore bit- 
ter vengeance against the one who had done this 
deed. Looking closely at the head, she chanced to 
find a bit of sword-point sticking in the skull, and 
she knew this must have been broken from the 
weapon which had done the deed. So she kept the 
sword-point carefully by her, in the hope that it 
might lead her to find her enemy. 

Meanwhile Tristan, though showered with 
praises from the court and people he had delivered, 


260 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


was faring but ill. The wound from the poisoned 
spear refused to heal. The best physicians of the 
country were called in, but the wound only grew 
more grievous and painful, day by day. Finally, 
when Tristan was beginning to despair of his life, 
an old soothsayer told him to go to the land whence 
the wound was received and there he would find 
an antidote for the poison. So Tristan set forth 
without delay; but knowing that it would not be 
safe for him to travel in Ireland under his own 
name, he went alone as Tantris a wandering min- 
strel. 

The fame of Isolde’s skill in mixing draughts 
and potions presently reached his ears, and he di- 
rected his steps to the court. Both Isolde’s mother 
and maid-servant knew the secrets of drugs and 
they had taught her many of these arts. So when 
a poor minstrel came to her attention, suffering 
from a poisoned wound, both her sympathy and 
skill were enlisted, and all the more because he 
seemed of noble bearing, and his eyes sought hers 
in an appealing way. 

So Isolde called in her maid and they undertook 
to heal Tristan of his wound, applying many bal- 
sams and soothing herbs. It was a long time, how- 
ever, before even their skill availed and the harper 
began to rally from his illness. 

It chanced one day while he slept, that Isolde sat 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


261 


by his side watching the progress of his fever. And 
as she sat there she happened to notice the beauty 
of his sword-hilt, and wishing to examine it closely 
she drew the sword from its scabbard. Suddenly 
she saw that a piece was missing from the point. 
A thought occurred to her that made the blood rush 
to her head. She hastened to the place where she 
had concealed the broken piece, and placed it in the 
gap. It fitted exactly. She had been nursing her 
sworn enemy! 

Just then Tristan called to her, and she turned 
and went to his bedside with the blade uplifted 
ready to strike. Neither spoke, but he read her 
purpose to slay him in her face and action; yet he 
did not flinch. He merely looked up sadly and 
tenderly with those eyes which she had found it 
hard to resist, the first time she ever saw him. And 
instantly, she knew not why, the sword fell from 
her hand clashing upon the floor. 

After that she continued to nurse him more ten- 
derly than ever, but without either of them saying 
a word about the incident. Her care and skill 
were rewarded, and at last Tristan was wholly re- 
covered and ready to set sail for home. Still he 
did not speak to the Princess of the strange new 
feeling that possessed him, for he thought that only 
pity on her part, for his defenceless state, had saved 
his life on that day when she guessed the truth. 


262 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


He contented himself with thanking her in the best 
phrases his oddly faltering tongue could repeat; 
begged permission to kiss her hand in token of the 
gratitude he could not utter; and asked leave to 
return upon some future day. 

When he had come to the court of Cornwall, he 
found the King overjoyed to see him, for he had 
given him up as dead. To the King and court he 
related his adventures, praising without stint the 
beauty and kindness of the Princess Isolde. In- 
deed he spoke with such youthful enthusiasm that 
it unwittingly set his hearers to thinking. Some of 
the courtiers had long been jealous of Tristan and 
wished to keep him from the throne. They had 
been trying to persuade the King to seek a wife 
and thus provide a son of his own for the kingdom. 
Now they urged him to ask for the hand of the 
Princess Isolde. It would cement the peace of 
the two kingdoms, they said, and from all accounts 
she was indeed worthy to be his Queen. 

King Mark pondered long over this advice, and 
asked many questions of the unsuspecting Tristan ; 
and the more the monarch thought of it, the more 
the picture of Isolde filled his fancy. Finally he 
decided to send a formal request for her hand; and 
as Tristan was familiar with the Irish court he was 
entrusted with the embassy. 

The request of the King sent a sudden chill 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


263 


through Tristan’s heart. He realised all at once 
how much Isolde meant to him. But his uncle had 
been a father to him, and he could not requite his 
kindness in any other way than by obedience. So 
he gave no outward sign, and prepared to execute 
his hard task. 

When messengers came to Isolde and told her 
that Sir Tristan was come to seek audience with her, 
her heart leaped for joy. Surely, she thought, he 
had come in his own proper guise, as he promised, to 
say the things he dared not utter when he went 
away. So she hastened to greet him and show him 
all graciousness. But when she learned the truth of 
his errand, her new hopes were dashed. Anger and 
pride took their place, that she should be rejected 
by this man whom she had cared for — and pardoned 
despite her oath of vengeance! But hiding her 
emotions she instantly resolved to go to King Mark 
and become his Queen, without letting the world — 
least of all, Sir Tristan — know how she suffered. 

To the King and Queen of Ireland the news of 
the embassy was welcome. They had become 
weary of the feud with Cornwall and were glad 
to conclude the peace and ally their house with that 
of King Mark. They received the ambassador, 
therefore, with every sign of honour, and held feast- 
ing and revelry until he should conduct the Prin- 
cess to his ship. 


264 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


But through it all Isolde remained cold and si- 
lent. Her conduct alarmed her mother, who 
wished her to be contented in the new home she was 
entering. So the Queen brewed a powerful love 
potion which she entrusted to Isolde’s maid, Bran- 
geane, telling her to give the potion to Isolde and 
her husband on the day of their wedding, when it 
would fill their hearts with mutual love and cause 
their after lives to be happy. 

So Tristan conducted Isolde to his ship and set 
sail for Cornwall; and of the deep love which had 
come to fill his own heart he uttered no word; nor 
so much as by a look or sign would he betray the 
trust reposed in him by his uncle the King. In- 
deed, Tristan went to the farther side of caution, 
and when the Princess was once upon shipboard 
he did not linger in her presence or speak with her, 
but busied himself with the steering of the vessel. 

This courteous reserve Isolde did not under- 
stand. She had been accustomed, all her life, to 
much attention and to seeing her lightest wish 
obeyed. And now it angered her more than ever 
that Tristan — who owed her so much — should treat 
her like the veriest stranger. She endured his neg- 
lect in sullen silence until the last day of the voy- 
age, when the ship was within sight of the shores 
of Cornwall. Then despair at the thought of be- 
coming the bride of a man she had never seen, and 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


265 


anger at the conduct of Tristan, overcame her. In 
a violent outburst she lamented her fate and wished 
that the waves could rise and swallow her up. 

Brangeane her maid was alarmed at this unusual 
mood and endeavoured to calm her. Finally Isolde 
raised her head and looked out through the door- 
way. She was in a pavilion on a raised portion of 
the deck, which commanded a view of the entire 
ship. As she looked, her eyes rested upon Sir 
Tristan who stood at the wheel steering the vessel. 
His brown muscular arms were bare, as also was 
his head save for a wealth of soft brown curls. A 
cloak fastened about his shoulders swept in grace- 
ful folds to his feet. His whole frame spoke of 
grace and strength. But his clear blue eyes, fas- 
tened intently upon the vessel’s course, had a tense 
look, almost stern in their sadness. He seemed, in- 
deed, to be fighting a hidden grief. 

Isolde pointed to him and asked mockingly of 
Brangeane : 

“What think you of our fine hero?” 

“Who — Sir Tristan, my lady? He is said to be 
the bravest and knightliest man in Christendom.” 

“I care not what they say. He is an arrant cow- 
ard!” 

“Oh, my lady!” 

“He is a coward, I tell you! Afraid to meet a 
woman’s eyes! Conducting me to his royal mas- 


266 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


ter as though I were some kitchen wench ! Go you 
to him and ask him why he has neglected our pres- 
ence and treated us so coldly.” 

“Shall I request him to attend upon you?” 

“No. Command him! Tell him it is the Prin- 
cess Isolde who speaks!” 

The maid was reluctant to deliver this message, 
and walked slowly along the deck. But finally she 
paused beside the wheel and said: 

“A message, my lord, from the Princess Isolde.” 

“Isolde!” Tristan started at the name and al- 
most released the wheel. Then recovering himself 
quickly he asked: “What is my lady pleased to 
say?” 

“She commands you to wait upon her.” 

Tristan paid no heed to the wording of the mes- 
sage, but bade the maid excuse him in all courtesy 
to her mistress, saying that he could best serve her 
at that moment by steering the vessel safely be- 
tween the dangerous rocks which lay off the coast 
of Cornwall. 

The gruff old knight, Kurneval, who had at- 
tended Tristan upon the voyage, broke into a 
scornful laugh when he chanced to hear the mes- 
sage of the Princess. 

“‘Command’ forsooth!” he exclaimed. “The 
slayer of Morold is the vassal of no one, be she even 
a queen!” 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


267 


Isolde overheard this speech, and when her maid 
returned to her, bearing Tristan’s refusal, her pas- 
sion knew no bounds. 

“Do you know who this ingrate is, who cannot 
find a moment’s time for me?” she cried. “He is 
the minstrel whose life I saved in Ireland, and 
whom you helped me to nurse 1” 

“Can it be possible!” exclaimed Brangeane. 
“But ’tis strange that I did not know him again!” 

“That is not the strange part,” continued Isolde, 
storming. “I had sworn to take vengeance upon 
the slayer of Sir Morold. I found out that he 
was the slayer, and yet I pardoned him! And this 
is his gratitude!” 

“My lady, my lady!” said Brangeane, trying to 
soothe her mistress. “Perchance Sir Tristan is not 
to blame for this. He is serving his King; and he 
shows you only the more honour, that he should 
woo you for the King instead of for himself.” 

“But I care not a whit for the King! Why 
should they all be forcing me into this loveless 
marriage — into a life of misery?” 

“No, no, not that!” replied Brangeane eagerly. 
“It is your mother’s dearest wish that you should 
be happy. See this casket? It contains a love 
potion which she brewed for you, and which will 
fill your heart and that of your husband with the 
truest devotion.” 


268 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


The sight of the potion diverted Isolde’s mind 
into other channels. It reminded her that she her- 
self could brew drinks and mix powders. She be- 
gan at once to prepare a deadly poison, quietly 
telling her maid that it would make her forget her 
unhappy past. 

By the time she had finished brewing this drink 
of death the ship had almost reached its anchorage ; 
and Kurneval entered to announce that they would 
speedily land, and that Sir Tristan awaited to es- 
cort her to the King. 

Isolde drew herself up proudly. 

“Go back to Tristan,” she said, “and say that 
we await him here. We will not leave this place 
until he appears to offer an apology for his rude- 
ness!” 

Kurneval was moved to make some retort to this, 
but deeming that diplomacy was the wisest plan 
he returned to Tristan and advised him to wait 
upon the irate Princess. 

Isolde, meanwhile, handed the poison flask to her 
maid, saying, “When he comes, give us to drink 
from it. We have much to forget, and I would 
be at peace with the world this day.” 

“Oh, my lady! What is it you would have me 
do?” asked Brangeane, terrified by her mistress’s 
manner. But Isolde pressed her hand reassur- 
ingly. 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


269 


At that moment Tristan entered, and with tones 
of the deepest respect he asked what the Princess’s 
will was with him. But Isolde was in no mood to 
temporise, and she reproached him haughtily for 
his treatment of her during the voyage, asking 
what he meant by such neglect to her station. 

It was such language as one would address to an 
underling, and Sir Tristan drew himself up with 
quiet dignity, replying that it was the custom in 
his country, when an ambassador brought a bride 
home to his lord, to refrain from intruding his 
presence during the journey. 

Isolde replied scornfully, that if he was such a 
strict observer of custom, he would do well to recall 
one other which he had overlooked. 

“What is that?” asked Tristan. 

“The blood ransom,” she answered, “for the life 
of Sir Morold!” 

“But that feud is healed!” he responded quickly. 
“There is now peace between Cornwall and Ire- 
land.” 

“But not between Tristan and Isolde!” she re- 
torted. And she recalled to him the time when 
he had sought her care in disguise; how she had 
discovered his identity by the broken sword, and 
yet had spared his life and kept his secret when 
her own land was filled with his enemies. His life, 
she now claimed, was still forfeit to her. 


270 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


Tristan had listened to her with varied emotions, 
but had made no move to interrupt her. Now 
with an indescribable air of sorrow and hurt pride 
he drew his sword and presented it to her, handle 
foremost. 

“It is the same weapon that slew Sir Morold in 
fair fight,” he said. “If you so bitterly regret his 
death and your previous kindness to me, I pray you 
slay me!” 

“Nay!” she answered, her face growing pale and 
red by turns. “Such deed would ill requite King 
Mark, whose ambassador you are. But we will 
declare a truce, if you will drink the usual cup of 
peace with me before we land.” 

And turning to Brangeane she commanded her 
to pour out a drink. The maid, pale and trem- 
bling, turned to fill the cup. Sounds from without 
now told them that the vessel was coming to an- 
chor. Isolde took the cup and handed it to Tris- 
tan. 

“Your unwelcome voyage is over,” she said 
darkly, looking into his eyes, “will you drink with 
me?” 

Tristan took the cup. He knew that Isolde had 
been plotting his death, and he now suspected that 
the drink was poisonous. Yet death seemed wel- 
come to him at this moment. 

“I thank you,” he said calmly. “I drink in glad- 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


271 


ness, giving you my oath of truce for all time — 
the honour and the pain of Tristan!” 

He put the cup to his lips and began to drink. 
But before he had drunk half its contents, Isolde 
with a suppressed cry snatched it from his hands 
and drained the rest. Then the massive cup fell 
to the floor, unheeded, and the two stood silent, 
looking at each other. 

Only a few moments they remained thus, and 
yet it seemed ages to them. The drug had begun 
to take effect in a strange, unaccountable way. 
Instead of the icy chill of death, which they had ex- 
pected to sweep through their veins, there came a 
wonderful tingle of life and love and bliss, all in- 
termingled in a splendid wave drawing each nearer 
to the other. 

“Tristan!” 

“Isolde!” 

The cries burst from their lips, as though they 
were in a trance ; and forgetful of the whole world 
without, each sprang forward and was clasped in 
the other’s arms. 

“Alas! What have I done?” moaned Bran- 
geane, wringing her hands. In her terror at giving 
the brew whose contents she feared, she had poured 
the love potion in its stead. Now she dreaded 
lest it should be the more fatal of the two in its 
consequences. But there was no way of escape. 


272 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


The voices of the sailors and soldiers on the near-by 
shore proclaimed the fact that King Mark was at 
hand. Brangeane hastily seized the robe and 
crown, which Isolde was to wear, and placed them 
upon her mistress, urging her to make herself 
ready. 

Awakened from her brief dream of happiness, 
Isolde suffered herself to be clad in the royal at- 
tire and led forward, weak and almost fainting, to 
meet her future husband. 

The generous and courtly King received her with 
every consideration. Noting that she was faint 
and pale, which he thought due to the voyage, he 
ordered rooms in his castle to be set aside for her 
and her maids ; and he postponed the betrothal feast 
and other public events until she should be strong 
enough to undergo them. He and all his court 
were delighted with this fair Irish Princess, and 
looked forward to the time when she should adorn 
their throne. 

The rooms set aside for her use were the choicest 
in the castle, opening directly out upon a private 
garden. Here the Princess was glad to take 
refuge for a few days, and thus put off the wed- 
ding as long as possible. She knew now that it 
was the love potion she and Tristan had swallowed, 
and so violent was her passion that she felt she 
could not live without seeing him. So she pre- 



The two stood silent looking at each other 




TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


273 


vailed upon Brangeane to set a signal for her lover. 
A light was to be left burning in the window of the 
tower, and when it was extinguished Tristan knew 
that he would find Isolde in the garden. His love 
was no less ardent than hers, and he impatiently 
awaited the secret meeting. 

Now there was one knight in the court who had 
long tried to supplant Tristan in the King’s fa- 
vour. His name was Melot, and he was wily and 
treacherous. Always on the watch to trip up Tris- 
tan in some way, he had noticed his confusion and 
Isolde’s weakness when the ship had come to land, 
and had rightly guessed the cause. So he now 
sought to surprise the lovers at a meeting and then 
inform the King. 

Brangeane had noticed Melot’s manner and 
warned her mistress against him, but Isolde was 
intent upon nothing else than seeing Tristan again. 
Scarcely was darkness come, upon the eventful 
evening, when she bade the maid put out the light 
which was to summon him; and when Brangeane 
hesitated, she herself extinguished it. 

It was a beautiful moonlit night in early sum- 
mer, when the flowers were in their first freshness 
and fragrance. It seemed to the Princess that all 
nature was rejoicing in her love. She was not, 
however, paying heed to the blossoms on every side. 
She was pacing eagerly back and forth listening for 


274 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


a welcome footfall. She had not long to wait, for 
Tristan sprang quickly through the shadows to 
meet her. Gladly the two greeted each other, 
without reserve, and wandered together down the 
path talking in low earnest tones of the happiness 
that had come to them. Isolde confessed that she 
had planned his death upon that fateful day on 
shipboard; while Tristan said he had expected noth- 
ing less, and would have welcomed it at her hands. 

Meanwhile the faithful maid had been left upon 
the tower to keep watch. Several times she called 
in low warning tones that they would best not lin- 
ger, but the lovers paid no heed to her, until Bran- 
geane suddenly gave a cry of alarm. At the same 
instant Kurneval rushed upon the scene with drawn 
sword, imploring Tristan to fly. But it was too 
late; the sound of horns was heard, and the King 
and Melot appeared, followed by a hunting party. 

Isolde, covered with shame, sank upon the 
ground. Tristan stood in front of her trying to 
shield her, but his own head was bent in trouble and 
he did not meet the King’s gaze. 

‘‘What does this mean?” demanded the latter. 

“It means that my doubts have been correct, your 
Majesty!” answered Melot. “Sir Tristan has not 
been as faithful a servant as you supposed!” 

Grief was stronger than anger in the King’s 
heart. He had loved Tristan like a son, and had 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


275 


gloried in his knightly honour. He told Tristan 
this, in a quiet yet stern voice, and ended by ban- 
ishing him from the kingdom. 

Tristan was almost heart-broken. He realised 
that his punishment had been but just, and yet he 
seemed as though one in a dream, powerless to 
stem this current which was sweeping him away. 
He did not answer the King, but, instead, turned 
to Isolde and asked her if she would go with him 
into exile. She replied that wherever he went, 
there would she go, even to death itself. 

At this new proof of her devotion Tristan’s joy 
swept away all his doubts and fears. He drew her 
tenderly to him and turned proudly to face the 
King and his party. 

“May the King and my foster-father pardon me 
out of his great kindness,” he said in a low tone, 
“but Isolde has elected to follow me, and I can do 
nothing less than protect her. Farewell 1” 

The King still stood a prey to conflicting emo- 
tions. But the traitor Melot, enraged at the turn 
of affairs, sprang forward, drawing his sword and 
crying, “Think not to scape so easily, villain! I 
will avenge the King!” 

“Ha, it is you , traitor, who would protect the 
King’s honour!” said Tristan haughtily. “Defend 
yourself, Melot!” 

He drew, and the weapons clashed sharply. But 


276 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


only for a moment did they meet. Tristan pur- 
posely lowered his guard, and before any one could 
interpose, Melot had struck him with his sword. 

“Disarm him!” commanded the King, himself 
seizing Melot’s arm. Tristan, sorely wounded, 
sank to the ground, Isolde clinging to him and sup- 
porting his head, while Kurneval strove to raise his 
stricken master. 

King Mark gave orders to certain of his attend- 
ants to wait upon Kurneval, and then strode slowly 
and sorrowfully away. He realised all too late 
the injustice he had done his nephew in sending 
him upon the embassy, but he could not understand 
this breach of faith; it was so unlike Tristan’s 
knightly honour. It seemed to the old King that 
he regretted this more than the loss of his fair young 
bride. 

Kurneval lost no time in conveying his master 
to the ancestral home in Brittany. Tristan had be- 
come unconscious, and only the promptest care 
could save his life. Kurneval vainly tried to nurse 
him back to health, but he had made the mistake 
of leaving Isolde in Cornwall. For her Tristan 
continually called in his delirium, and her skill 
and loving care would alone avail to save him. 
Kurneval soon realised this and sent messengers 
entreating her to come to Brittany; and now with 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


277 


the return of the next ship he expected her to ar- 
rive. 

On the day when the ship was looked for, Tris- 
tan who had awakened out of his fever, but was 
very weak, lay under a linden-tree. He had 
wished to look at the blue sky again, and Kurn- 
eval had carried his couch out in the courtyard. 
The place had long been deserted and was now 
overgrown with vines and bushes. The ancient 
tower was crumbling, and the huge drawbridge was 
in ruins. But to Kurneval this was home, and he 
hoped that the pleasant air and old surroundings 
would benefit his master. 

Tristan was more nearly himself to-day, and 
asked many questions about how he had come here, 
how long it had been, and when the Lady Isolde 
was coming. Kurneval told him everything, and 
said that the Princess was looked for, that very 
day. 

A smile broke over Tristan’s face at this. “Ah! 
then I will live!” was all he said, and sank into 
slumber again. 

Meanwhile a shepherd played upon his pipe, on 
the rocks below the castle, looking out to sea. The 
melody was low and plaintive, and as Kurneval 
listened to it his heart sank; for he had posted the 
shepherd there and bidden him play thus sadly so 
long as there was no sail in sight. Now he knew 


278 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


that if Isolde did not come that day, the sun would 
set upon his master for the last time. 

And now, in his delirium, Tristan was telling 
of the ship which was bringing Isolde from Corn- 
wall. 

“Do you not see it?” he asked. “Look! the sails 
are all filled up, and the ship is steering straight 
for us. How high the waves pile up about the 
bows! There on deck is her pavilion, just as it 
was on that other lonely voyage. And see! there 
she stands looking eagerly toward me, her hair 
garlanded with flowers and her arms outstretched! 
It is my Isolde! Mine ! She is forsaking all the 
world and its thrones to come to the side of a poor 
outcast. Ah, why is that music so sad? They 
should pipe merrily upon my wedding-day!” 

As if in answer to his last words, the shepherd 
on the lookout suddenly changed his tune and piped 
shrilly and merrily. The faithful Kurneval sprang 
to his feet and ran hastily to the rocks. Yes, there 
was a broad sail and it was heading straight for 
them. And on the deck stood a slender, white- 
robed figure that waved a scarf. Unable to re- 
strain himself, Kurneval hastened back to the sleep- 
ing knight. 

“My lord, my lord!” he exclaimed, shaking him 
gently. “Awake! a ship is sailing straight to the 
foot of the castle. We hope it may be the Lady 
Isolde!” 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


279 


“Yes, it is my dear lady,*’ answered Tristan, sit- 
ting up. “I saw her in my dreams. Go to her 
and welcome her in my stead. Hasten, good 
Kurneval, hasten!” 

Kurneval urged him to be as quiet as possible, 
and went to obey his commands. But Tristan 
could not be patient. Not knowing what he did, 
he rose from his couch, in his exertion tearing his 
bandages loose and causing his wound to bleed 
afresh. He staggered halfway across the court- 
yard, dizzy but unconscious of pain; for clear as a 
bell, from the rocks below, he heard his beloved’s 
voice: “Tristan!” 

“She is coming* — my Princess!” he muttered. 
“That is the voice I have heard in my dream.” 

He tried to answer her, but could not. His 
knees tottered beneath him and he groped blindly 
as if in the dark. 

“Tristan!” called the voice, nearer this time. 

“Isolde!” he answered softly, as he sank to the 
earth. 

But the voice, weak as it was, had reached his 
beloved’s ears, for she was bending over him try- 
ing to raise him up and imploring him to speak to 
her once again. 

“See, I am here, Tristan — my heart’s delight! 
I came as speedily as might be, but oh! how slow 
the ship sailed! Did you not hear my heart calling 


280 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


to you, day and night, Tristan, Tristan, Tristan! 
Now you will get well — you must get well — and 
we will be ah! so happy here in Brittany! But are 
you not glad to see me? Beloved, answer me.” 

But the voice she so longed to hear again was 
stilled forever. Isolde tried in vain to rouse him, 
then a terrible dread seizing her, she sank uncon- 
scious across his lifeless body. 

At this moment Kurneval was called from the 
pathetic sight by a great commotion outside; and 
the shepherd ran to him crying that a second ship 
had come to land and armed men were disem- 
barking, followed by one who seemed to be a King. 
Kurneval’s first glance told him that it was King 
Mark himself. Fearing in his own wild grief 
that the monarch was pursuing the two lovers, he 
resolved to defend the castle gate to his last breath. 

The first man to appear was Melot. Kurneval 
drew his sword and rushed upon him. 

“Back, thou cursed spy!” he exclaimed. 

“Peace, fool!” said Melot. “Unbar the gate!” 

“Not to such as thee!” retorted the old knight, 
and began to engage him fiercely. 

“Stop them! We come in peace!” called out the 
voice of King Mark. 

“Mistress! Isolde!” It was Brangeane’s voice 
that was now heard. 

But the two combatants fought on. Presently 
Melot’s sword inflicted an ugly wound. 


TRISTAN AND ISOLDE 


281 


“Ha, master, I will avenge you yet!” cried 
Kurneval. And with a last mighty stroke, de- 
livered as he sank to the ground, he gave Melot 
his death wound. Then the old knight crept slowly 
to his master’s side and tried to make one last 
stand there, but sank back and breathed his last. 

Just then King Mark burst in at the gate, and 
paused stricken with remorse at the scene which 
greeted his eyes. Brangeane, sobbing aloud, ran 
to her mistress and tried to revive her. The maid 
was frantic with remorse for she felt as though this 
tragedy was due to her. She had confessed to the 
King the secret of the love potion, and he had at 
once set sail to assure the lovers of his pardon and 
affection. He understood all at last, but now it 
was too late. 

Brangeane brought her mistress to consciousness, 
and implored her to greet the King. 

“He comes as your friend, and Sir Tristan’s,” 
she said; “he is here to aid you.” 

King Mark then hastened to speak to her, gently 
and kindly. In his courtesy he asked her pardon 
for the harm he had unwittingly done. 

But Isolde paid no heed to his words. Her gaze 
was fixed upon Tristan, and when she spoke it was 
in praise of his constancy and truth. Then she 
told of a glorious land to which they both were go- 
ing, where they should dwell free from sorrow and 
care and heart-break. 


282 


STORIES FROM WAGNER 


“ I know not where it is,” she murmured, “but I 
know my Tristan will be there, and that will be for 
me a bliss supreme!” 

A radiant smile overspread her face as she ended, 
and with a soft sigh her heart broke and she sank 
down and nestled her head close against that of 
Tristan. And while a sunset glory shone through 
the trees of the old courtyard and illumined the 
scene, as though it were some radiant picture, those 
who stood by fancied they could hear strains of 
music. Near and yet far-off it sounded, clear and 
sweet, rising in soft waves as though bearing the 
souls of these two weary pilgrims to the land of 
rest and eternal love. 


THE END 





























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